Gods Never Die
by THA-THUMPP
Summary: Six months have passed since the death of Albert Wesker and Chris finds himself in Guatemala, where he faces another viral break-out. Who could possibly be the mastermind behind this bio-terrorist attack? Mpreg in later chapters
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning:** Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship (later), Mpreg (later)

_Italics_ – Emphasized words/Thoughts/Flashbacks/Onomatopoeia(s)

**Bold **– B.O.W.'s screech/HQ's command over the com.

**A/N:** Apologies beforehand, because it may not be some people's cup of tea, but a few OCs have been added to this story. We felt a really good plotline would not survive with just three characters— and PWP was WAY out of the question! We hope you'll find it interesting none-the-less. Cheers.

**UPDATED [05-03-13]: ****This chapter has been ****REVISED**** with added information. We hope that those of you who've already read it will do so again, because we guarantee you'll achieve a better understanding of the story… that, and it flows a lot nicer!**

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_More and more I find myself wondering if it's all worth fighting for... For a future without fear..._

_Yeah, it's worth it._

_Or so I thought…_

**…**

14.7162° N, 90.6185° W, Guatemala, Coordinates

June 24, 2010, 18:22 p.m.

The scorching sun drifted idly behind the stifling jungle's many trees nestled within the torture of Central American heat as intense footsteps plodded and pulled through stagnant pools of muck breeding mosquitoes. A man in a pallid biohazard ensemble stalking from beyond cluttered shrubs in tardiness, only to stop briefly to lead his teal protection gloves around overgrown canopies dangling in path, removing with an easy tug. And access was soon cleared, allowing patent gaze to village houses, strewn about like old-timers playing cards at a casino.

Blotched earth encompassing the man's devoured imprint, boots encased by a disposable and muddied cover as fleeing light reflected off the round, glassiest eyes of his mask; stare holding the sullen acuities of residents before glancing down at his thumb, which trailed around the dial of a media player; shuffling a playlist in a demoralizing manner.

_Click._ And chosen operatic pop slowly seeped from a hidden earphone to which he gave a so-so nod, prior to pressing forward— casually replacing his composition entertainer with a handgun, tightly fixing a silencer's tip and the inhabitants of the rustic town didn't even notice him until the first shot was fired— followed by two more and three people fell; shrill screams varying a mixture of aged to adolescence, integrated with hushed gasps as the man approached the middle of the settlement— more like danced; a slide to the left here, tilt of the head there.

Eyes were in awe, unlike times when the populace had had their rations ravaged by neighboring districts and militia groups, pilfering nationals of their courage to leave their homes; but this operate caught all attention and erased intimidation; status one against many. And a few leading warriors impulsively thought this male didn't stand up to the guise of 'dangerous,' so it began with a single, brave dweller, who charged with his native spear in hand—

But there wasn't even a hurried motion, nor flinch from the presumptuous and intended prey, and instead a leg was humorously lifted; bullet firing from beneath, piercing the incoming civilian's thigh and weight staggered balance before being round kicked aside. And put off by the flesh-wound, the local resident hit ground hard in a grovel, a second villager immediately dashing from a well-known blind spot, hoping to succeed in a surprise assault—

However, an inadequate glance gave the biohazardous agent plenty of time to position his firearm for another blast; flung over his shoulder, head cocked and trigger pulled.

Bulls-eye.

And with elegant steps the man spun to his music, flicking up dirt from clumped soil before revealing a vial in the process— skipping the dead member to sit on the previously wounded one; lowly-saturated, dark cyan hands slipping into a small pouch attached to his thigh to withdraw a needle, stuck into the tube's cap; dark purplish, pink liquid entering the syringe.

"Now." He stared curiously at the bubbling concoction spilling from the tip, before adjusting the trapped air with a flick, "Time to put you to the test." and scooting generous weight from the offended person below, he re-hammered his boney rear down in a firmer relax. "Ailing folk gather 'round! I've come to auction a cure."

But contrary silence applauded skepticism as the upset population peered aimlessly from the haven of their quarters; a mother holding her baby closer to suffocate its cries as she glanced with spacious, beige sockets to the rest of her family.

"OK, then." And impatient arms were cast abroad as the man leaned to stare at his victim below with a sigh; song now on mute. "Looks like it's just you and me—"

"Pa... Papa!" However, a scrawny boy covered in rash hobbled from a nearby alley, triggering desperate hands from cracked windows as they tried to prevent the sightless rush; a foolish son trying to inherit his father's job of protection, which resulted in a genial,

"On second thought… He's a better candidate." And a pleased grunt escaped the man's lips amid a rise from the floundering parent, flipping the syringe once before offhandedly jamming it into the passing youngster's neck. "Make Daddy proud, eh?" His sneering shush was complimented by a profound thud and the injured father crawled to be by his child's side; meaningless gestures searching for disclosure of what was just administered.

Nevertheless, ignoring ongoing circumstances around, the accomplished agent pulled out a walky-talky along with his departure towards the outskirts. "It's Civil. Project-C is now in effect, over—" though an abrupt, raspy yowl blared from the boy's widened throat; arms wildly flailing and body convulsing as blood streamed from socket corners.

And there was a disenchanted _tsk_ and low, "Shit…" before, "What was that?" Attention heedlessly directed elsewhere with a somber wave, "No, tell him it didn't work… Time to commence plan B: send in the '_Quiet One_.'" before his limb dropped with the communicator, observation pinched to the spreading twilight as he heavily exhaled, soon reaching his hand out to catch detached mist. "…Just what we need."

Furthermore, there wasn't even a moment's pause before a sudden squall deformed surrounding trees as a black helicopter zoomed over the seemingly-vacant village; men cloaked in uniforms sliding down descending ropes; carcasses of the fallen four trampled like drunks in the aftermath of a party, raging winds hazing background ambiance, to the point that Civil had to practically scream,

"The kid!" with an informative gesture and repeat himself a few times before operatives understood and upon conception, the father was mercilessly dragged apart from his son; brains beaten in by the bunt of a soldier's gun and left to gape in death at his offspring's mutation: alarmed wails escaping from observing villagers, who were quickly rounded like cattle for slaughter.

Here sat a town no one would miss, buried within the nightfall horrors of its once radiant evening; raindrops and bodies now plummeting in unison; although the water came in more abundance than flesh, rattled and buried in the safety of its situated grounds. Sacred no longer, only exhibiting the similaristic chaos of excited flies drawn to freshly exhausted excrement; intrusive actions bringing terror to those who managed to flee freely, branding their memories with panic and confusion as they disappeared into the dark woods like mice in a cornfield.

Many soldiers pursued on instinct, however, Civil's demanding cry of, "No! Leave them! They're not worth it!" halted the hunt as he grabbed shoulder to shoulder, reimbursing antics at the hinterland against the cascade crashing down. "We need to seal this area before—"

_**GUWAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAROOOOOO!**_

And gazes were altered when noting layers split in reconstruction as a burlap encasement consumed the boy's form, ending with a wet _blurp_ as steam rose from a heated shell now hardened, and Civil— alongside his men— could only gawk in ponderance before flinching at movement inside and wasting no time, a combatant promptly ordered to light two flares in a swift and hissing X, signaling the circling helo to fall lower. A huge wire fence dangling from the underside of the airborne vehicle, which was disconnected in a loud _clang_ and assembled ground level by soaked and stained hands, rapidly raised and dragged around the adjacent houses; links heaved together with a thunderous _click_, hallmarking the vicinity on lock-down.

**…**

June 25, 2010, 6:15 a.m.

Thin streaks of rays broke through the bleak, grumbling blanket above, aqueous crashes scraping against the side of our RHIB as we rode buoyantly towards the shoreline; beach not visibly consisting of pearly white sands, but of uncouth rocks and sharp shells.

"… _**tea…m. Wha…is your…ur…rent…statu…s..?"**_

And jolting from a hard rut of sea in my seat, I placed a vigilant finger to my ear, tilting my head to try an angle at which I could block the harsh air hammering my drums. "Chris here." Jill was benched beside me, her focus transmitted over the waving waters extended across the horizon for miles. "We're just pullin' up to the coast now."

_Chh… Chhhh…Chhhhhhh…._

_Ha. Communication shouldn't be an issue this far inland, _so maybe range was being stressed because of limited cell towers in the area, and seeing as there was nothing else I could do from my position, tolerantly fiddled with the device; rubbing it like gnat bite to try and clear the signal, "HQ— HQ, do you copy?" only to be met by a less pronounced hissing hiatus before a low,

"_**Y…Yes. We read you… loud… and clear, Chris." **_pulled back from noise.

"Great…"_ Now that _that's_ established_, "What can you tell us about the mission?" and I snapped fingers at Jill for focus, who leaned closer as I pulled out my PDA; images and documents updated via stream, flashing on screen as I swiped to browse.

"_**We received a report earlier in the week, speculating suspicious activity within this general region of Guatemala, and according to our 'source'— it may involve the… infamous… Tricell—"**_

And there was a sudden _pop_ of static, to which I twitched to. "…Y-Yeah." The mention of that company only added to my unnerved coordination, but I fought to keep my mind straight, and correcting my hunched posture helped more than I thought, "Remember somethin' about that in the debriefing online…" and I chafed at the scattered spray stinging my eyes, prior to comforting my elbows on my knees. "So basically, we're here because of some nonsensical hearsay… After all, the organization was destroyed— we were there."

In addition, I passed a brief glance to Jill— noting she was already honed in on my tone, casting a defiant stare before I winked at her, directing features to relax. She probably thought I was going to be a jerk, like previous temperament in past situations when authorities put their demanding feet on me, but I was only joshing.

"Just sayin'." And hopefully with my chipper tone HQ understood intentions; which he did— or at least let on like he did— by deciding to play nice with a jovial chuckle of,

"_**Senseless as it may seem… it's our job to make sure it remains as such… Just rumors."**_

And as much as I hated being lectured, knew he was right. "Copy that." The B.S.A.A. couldn't afford another incident like Kijuju; one that ended with countless casualties. _So many people… taxed as guinea pigs and used in a war they didn't sign up for._

"_**As you know, it took us a while to decipher the badly burnt documents and data chips retrieved from the base Irving destroyed at the oil fields, but it appears the CEO of Tricell's African Division, Excella Gionne, was a little too flexible with her export-import contacts throughout years rising in rank…And information was secretly passed through the black market to competitors after her death, as well as Albert Wesker's, so proceed with caution. Over—"**_

"…and out." However, most of my focus was still caught on the tail-end of HQ's last few words. The first being my ex-captain's name— sworn enemy of the Bioterrorism Alliance— and the second…

I'd always wondered what he meant about _'just getting started,'_ but maybe it was solely said because he was too disillusioned at the time about ongoing circumstances to accept defeat, and chose to rile our close-victory with misleading intentions…

Could this be Wesker's ghost getting revenge?

_Six months, huh? _And I found myself unconsciously groping the still-tender scar on my chest, well hidden beneath my protective gear, but not psyche, _Has it really been that long?_ and I didn't have to be empathic to know my own mind, body and soul was consumed by bitter commemoration; more than likely displayed pitiably on my brow.

"_Now, Sheva, shoot him!"_

"_I can't without hitting you!"_

"_Then— " I could clearly remember my fingers robustly gripping at the slimy, wriggling tentacles— the ones shielding Wesker's weak point… Damn, it was so hard to manage even a few pulls, but once I had a firm gasp couldn't help but try and mentally shut out my former captain's disputes— his growls sounding more and more like a distressed bear as he frantically tried to shake me off. "—shoot through me!"_

_But after a mustered peek in Sheva's direction, could instantaneously notice her uncertainty; visible in hesitant actions as she ignored my suggestion and unsheathed her machete— congregating courage to approach before thrusting the drawn dagger into Wesker's upper body— so hard and concentrated, that the blade pierced my chest as well. Although I didn't have time to react…_

"_CHRIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS!"_

_That scream…_ Haunting to run-of-the-mill nightmares, inducing echoing chills throughout my skin, seemingly shattering all envisions gathered during each desperate escape.

Guess I was cursed…

"_Chris?"_

And by the time I slowly recalled mindset to reality, Jill's worried eyes were already prying for response, and I tried best for her to accept my strained, spur-of-the-moment grin before clearing my throat with a dry, "I'm alright." standing subsequently to notice the boat was already beached on brittle sand, and made to propel myself over the hard edge of the dinghy. Boots sinking into the squelchy grime as the ocean's spit soaked the rims of my pants while I turned to offer my hand, which was taken without protest.

_Excluding Jill and myself, there were five other members accompanying us on this mission: Joel, Saunders, Mark, Roger and Fawn… and to be honest it felt weird— seeing as it was my first time in years with a real team again, unlike my time in Africa; Sheva and I the only ones left to proceed alone— no time to regroup after the entire squad was downed by that damned B.O.W.; compliments of that scumbag Irving._

_Good riddance to 'im…_

As well as Jill's descend, and I concurrently directed a nod to Joel, perched behind the steering wheel and he passed my motion to Saunders, who threw the anchor into liquid depth; silver steel engulfed hungrily, disappearing without a trace.

"Alright, let's gear up." And with no one technically labeled 'in charge,' I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling; after all, I was reaching the point in my career to be considered a veteran. Had to get rehearsal in there somehow— to set the stage for my future promotion… _Not that I thought I'd be endorsed anytime soon…_

However, Mark was already one step ahead of me— transiting a box pertaining provisions to Roger, who had dismounted from the opposite side of the raft— and I gripped his shoulder palpably with an accepting,

"Good work."

**…**

Meanwhile,

as Chris and the others bustled efficiently with their delegate shifts, Fawn— the rookie— decided to follow his own schedule, wandering pointlessly into the nearest nest of jungle; young eyes eagerly investigating new surroundings— but not before stopping to observe a blue Morpho butterfly breaking out its cocoon. Seemingly fascinating to watch as composure was regained after its struggle for release, but once the distracting insect had vanished from view, Fawn curiously began examining the array of exotic underbrush around. Starting with mossy rocks, a bush covered in exhilarating flowers, a human figure, succulent fruits dangling from a— his glance doubled back.

"H-Hey," And a muster was barely managed through an arid choke as he raised his firearm; fingers nervously fine-tuning the trigger with a clearer, "Hey, you!"

But the person rocked back and forth— fro and to, as if trying to regain balance; memorable features obscured by the warped arms of branches; defending from scrutiny as well as stillness.

And intimidated by no response, Fawn readjusted location on the handgrip of his poised weapon, and quickly worked around assembling his practiced Spanish accent with a, "Habla ingles?" But without warning the menacing silhouette extended a limb, which stretched like elastic and grabbed distant woods; slipping from sight in a blur and chilling cackle.

**…**

There was a shrill cry— followed by rabid gunfire— as Jill and I turned simultaneously with the others, hesitantly prepping our weapons from the unorthodox disturbance; heavy and fumbling antics drawing from greenery overwhelming the coastline's border.

And my first thought on the approaching target was that it was just a white-tailed deer— and in a sense, guess I was right— when seeing Fawn's pale face emerge; stumbling aimlessly over his own feet before his rear was presented to us in a turn, gun pointed at the unknown beyond the shrubs, and I quickly lowered my arm, pulling others' alongside me as well. "Stand down!"

_What the hell was that kid thinking— pulling a stunt like that? _But slowly found myself wondering why he was so spooked.

However, my forward steps to investigate were stalled, concentration attracted to the haunting skies hovering; the last beam of light lingeringly swallowed by ominous veils of black, leaving shadows to tint our terrain, and I couldn't quell a persistent nag in my gut that something was off about this mission…

I mean, _Why… after all these months of stayin' below radar… _What could possibly be out here that's worth compromising the groundwork of formerly burned ideology?But its times like these that a soldier should never reflect on ordeals already set in motion, and my attention was redrawn by Jill's inquiry of,

"What happened?"

And a response didn't come quick, or clean from the visibly troubled greenhorn, "T-T-There was s-s-something t-t-there…" uncertainty leeching strength from confidence. "i-i-in the jungle…" But a hand was placed on Fawn's trembling shoulder; paternal assurance seeping through compassionate pores as it was given a small shake.

"Sure it wasn't a skunk, kid?"

However, Roger scoffed sardonically, fixing the pockets on his gear with a hot lug. "Skunks don't live in the tropics, Mark."

"Could have been imported." And Saunders felt the need to flash an impish smirk to Joel; mulling over—what he thought— was a clever retort.

But Jill and I were the only ones not laughing. _Poor guy. _Kinda reminded me of myself when I initially joined S.T.A.R.S... First mission. New team. Everyone's on edge… But this level of alarm—

"N-No!" Fawn's eyes were wide, amped on adrenaline and darting to every movement perceived, before sponging at his puffy lids with sandy palms, dazzling his freckles with glassy specs of filth amid the plop to his knees. "I-It was human— I mean, it _looked_ human… but then its arms—"

And I immediately roused the sleeping com. in my ear; tendency animated a little more than I liked from present circumstances, but someone had to hold firm among the rising anxiety, "HQ, any chance you can use the satellite to survey the area? I got a feelin' we're not the only ones here to confirm the _authenticity_ of that Intel…"

However, a rumble of rapidly heated air answered first, before a, _**"Sorry, Chris. Satellites are down… due to the…ongoing storm— we're blind out here… I'm afraid you guys are…on your— own from this… point o—"**_

And extra misfortune was added to our already ruptured news as a crack of lighting whitened the overcast ambiance; a sickening howl reverberating within the droning echo, ringing throughout the intense atmosphere overhead as trees became naked; flocks of birds taking startled flight, leaving us to roost in silence on the deserted shore alone…

_What the hell? …I hope that was just thunder._

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**Translation(s):**

Habla inglés – Spanish: "(You) speak English?"

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****REMINDER** This chapter has been ****REVISED****, and if don't you see "UPDATED [XX-XX-XX]" at the top of the following five chapters, then we're still modifying them… (Hopefully this revision doesn't twist too many things out of whack for new readers!)**


	2. Chapter 2: The Village and the Beast

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning:** Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship (later), Mpreg (later)

_Italics_ – Thoughts/Onomatopoeia(s)

**Bold** – B.O.W. voice

**A/N:** Sorry for the length. We'll try to make future chapters shorter! Cheers.

* * *

_A few days ago we received Intel from a reliable source about recent activity regarding Tricell, and were able to trace it back to a small village in Guatemala._

_But when we got there, only death greeted us…_

**…**

We entered the village clearing, each taking an angle, scanning for danger.

Nothing.

Except footprints, and a huge fence that forbade us from venturing further. It towered approximately eighteen feet high. Maybe twenty.

"Strange." I inspected my left, then right. "Area isn't exactly a tourist spot, let alone up-to-date with appearances." I tugged at the steel links. "So what's this doing here?"

Mark lowered his weapon. "Looks new."

"Chris."

I followed Jill's gaze.

Beyond the fence were the bodies of five— no. Six villagers.

She shot me a weary glance. "Seems we're not the only ones who know about this place."

"Regardless," I looked up, shielding my eyes.

A storm was coming.

"We're gonna have to find another way around." Motioning with my chin. "Fan out."

Soft thunder hesitantly sounded in the distance as we began to scale the perimeter.

**…**

Saunders adjusted the gun strap over his shoulder, glancing to the closest member, who was a good ten feet behind. "Village must have something to hide. I mean, why else would they need a fence?"

Roger knelt, picking up a broken spear, turning it in his hand. "Maybe it was to keep someone out?"

Jill leaned over him. "Or in."

**…**

"Hey, over here!"

All heads turned to Joel, who was beckoning with a wave.

We re-grouped.

Behind him was a hole, which could easily give us access to the inner area.

'Nice!'— is what I wanted to say, but something was odd about the way the links were broken. It wasn't a clean cut.

No.

Wire cutters weren't used for this... If I had to guess, something chewed its way out.

_Great…_

Joel grunted as he pulled the gap wider, heels digging into the soft sand. "Whad'ya need? An invitation?"

I motioned to Jill. "Ladies first."

"Hah. Thanks." She rolled her eyes before ducking through.

**…**

Our first priority was to examine the bodies. Which we did:

Five were men. Four shot and died instantly. The last bled out. And then there was the boy, who appeared to have been mauled from the inside.

"Who could have done this?" Jill folded a knee, closing the eyes of the child.

I shook my head. "I don't know, but they might still be here."

_Snap._ We all turned, catching the last of a dust trail vanishing down a nearby alley.

Scattered rounds painted the earth. "—What was it? Did you see it?" Fawn used his firearm as a pointer, inching forward while glancing to Mark.

"No. Moved too fast."

"Hey. Calm down." I planted a firm hand on Fawn's gun, forcing it lower. "We don't want to injure civilians."

"Civilians? What civilians?" His palms opened, shoulders raised. "Take a look around! There's no one here—"

"Quiet!" Jill pressed a finger to her lips. "You hear that?"

Everyone fell silent, ears straining.

There was a groan. Soft at first, but then it grew louder.

Beside me, Joel tilted his head. "Where's it comin' from?"

"Behind us?" We all turned with Roger.

Fawn's eyes were the first to go wide. "W-What the hell!"

Houses trembled slightly as a bulky creature struggled to loosen itself from narrow alley walls. Within seconds it was free, collapsing forward with a sickening pop. Its shoulders shifting, returning to their sockets.

"A new type of B.O.W.?"

I was just as surprised as Jill.

Jaw muscles flexed menacingly below tiny, red eyes, as drool slipped from sharp fangs, hitting the ground with a hiss.

"Acid!" I staggered away, weapon raised. "Careful! Don't let it near you!"

"Easier said than done!" Mark positioned his shotgun for battle. "Fuckers not exactly small!"

Multiple bullets were discharged from all members, to which the monster shook its head fiercely, shielding its face with a forearm.

Without warning, it lunged forward, knocking us off our feet. Before we could regain composure it was much closer, and now looming over—

I pulled myself up. "Fawn! NO—!"

"Watch out, kid!" Mark shoved the young recruit aside as the B.O.W. inhaled, throat rattling. It puked a ball of saliva. There was a sickening splort, followed by an agonizing scream.

**…**

_Somehow we managed to escape the clutches of the death, and take refuge in a house an alley over. All of us, except—_

"Mark. Mark, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" Fawn slid down the wall, blood coating his chest and hands.

I lowered my head in shame, slamming a fist into the wall. "Dammit!"

The acidic mucus from the B.O.W. had hit Mark in the chest, leaving us no time to remove his vest.

"If only I had gotten there faster. I could have saved—"

Jill's hand groped my shoulder. "Chris. Mark, he... It's not your fault."

"No, it's not." Roger curled his fingers. "It's HIS!" He lifted Fawn by the collar, shaking him violently. "If only you moved— what the fuck were you thinking?"

"Hey! Knock it off!" I tried to pry the two apart. "This isn't the time to be fighting with each other. That B.O.W. is still—"

A fist met my face, but I'm pretty sure it was meant for Fawn.

"Roger!" Saunders grabbed him from behind.

"Calm down!" Joel took my place as mediator.

I stumbled back, Jill immediately at my side.

"Chris!"

"I'm fine." The taste of rust invaded my mouth and I spit. "Look. Let's just try and stay focused. If we don't get our act together, we'll all end up like Mark."

Thoughts were pondered before everyone returned to their own space.

"Well," Jill peeked through a window drape, "whoever put that fence up obviously knew the B.O.W. was here, and has done a pretty good job containing it before our arrival." She exhaled, dropping the cloth. "So, I think our best bet is to get back through that hole and retreat for now." Hands tightening around her handgun. "Besides, bullets didn't seem to have an effect."

"Agreed." I nodded. "We'll make our way to the boat and contact HQ from there." I tapped the com. in my ear. "Can't get a clear signal this far in land."

Roger scoffed. "Yeah right." He motioned to the door. "I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to try and outrun that thing again. Despite size it was pretty fast."

He didn't have to remind me, but, "It's a chance I'm willing to take."

"Me too." Joel shrugged. "Beats sittin' here like a duck."

He exhaled grudgingly. "Fine… but let's go solo. We'll draw too much attention as a group." A brief pause as he glared to Fawn. "Or we could use a decoy? What do you say? Think of it as a contribution to Mark."

"No one's getting left behind." I narrowed my eyes. "We're in this together."

Eye contact was avoided.

After a minute, Saunders pushed his way to the entrance. "I'll lead." He presented his machine gun, reloading a clip. "I've got more ammo."

Silence gave him the 'ok' and he unlatched the door.

Outside was darker than earlier, storm clouds full and lingering overhead.

Saunders gingerly poked his head out to the left. "I… don't see anything." He cleared his throat. "On my signal." Taking a step forward, he turned right—

The beady eyes of the B.O.W. peered into his; its neck stretching like a turtle around the corner of the house. **"Escon… …didas."**

"Wha—"

"Saunders!" I watched in horror as a claw encased my teammate, ripping him from the doorway, flinging his body into the air. His scream faded into the distance, returning seconds later, ending with a bone-cracking thud.

We all jumped back, expecting another attack. Which came— from above. The roof let out a deep groan as it began to concave.

I swat at the fluttering dust in the air. "It's trying to bring the house down!"

"Screw this, I'm outta here!" Roger rocked on his heels before booking out the door. "See you on the other side!"

_How he managed to join the B.S.A.A. is beyond me._

"You bastard!" Joel pursued with Jill hot on his heels.

"Roger!"

I also made an attempt to flee, only to see Fawn still on the ground. "Hey! Come on!" My hand outstretched for him to take, but he just sat there. Eyes to the floor. I gave a growl. "Now's not the time for this!" I ripped him to his feet, sloppily dragging him out the building, and towards the hole.

Lucky for us, the B.O.W. was too engrossed with the house to realize we made it to the fence.

I shoved— well, practically kicked— Fawn through the opening, immediately following with a roll.

"Chris!" Feminine fingers reached for me— until a long, exaggerated shriek pierced the air, forcing us to cover our ears.

A glance over my shoulder gave me enough time to see the B.O.W. throw itself to the ground and charge, swatting away crates and barrels in a tantrum.

Somehow it looked bigger in the open.

_Could its mutation have something to do with rapid cell growth— like the G-virus?_ The rest of my thoughts fled as it drew closer. _Shit. At this rate—_ I hopped into a sprint, firmly pushing Fawn ahead of me before gesturing to the others. "Go! Go! Go!Go!GO!"

_CRASH!_ The fence came down, accompanied by rain and lightning; our heavy footprints leaving impressions in the moistening soil as we ran.

"Head for the trees!"

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**Translation(s):**

Escondidas - Hide and Seek; game where one person hides and the other tries to find them.


	3. Chapter 3: A Team Reduced to Three

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning:** Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship (later), Mpreg (later)

_Italics_ – Thoughts/Onomatopoeia(s)/Off-screen voice(s)

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait... In the end, this chapter turned out longer than the last… By three pages. Boo! Comments are very much appreciated! Cheers.

* * *

_It's just Jill, Fawn and myself now. Somehow we managed to lose the B.O.W., but got separated from Joel and Roger. We don't know where they are…_

_I can only hope they're safe…_

**…**

The pouring rain fell upon the roof of a run-down facility, nestled deep within the jungle.

_Click. Click. Click._ Civil sat in a control room with his feet propped on a desk. A wall of monitors flickered silently before him, reflecting off his mask.

"Boring. No. Meh. Ugh—" He stopped on a glitched image of Chris, when first arriving on the beach. "Well, well." He shifted forward, planting his legs firmly on cracked tiles. "Chris Redfield." He let the name roll off his tongue. "Your reputation precedes you." Leaning back in his chair, he rested his head on intertwined palms.

"Unsettling, isn't it?" A shadow loomed in the doorway behind Civil. "Being so close to the enemy, yet unable to attack because of a personal vendetta." The man approached, his biohazard suit styled differently, a long tube trailing from the mouth of his mask to his chest. "We wouldn't have to go through all this trouble if he were dead."

"Shut up, Docks."

A chilling cackle slipped, but was cut short. "You know I won't." Docks positioned himself against the counter. "So, what do we do now?" He pointed to Chris's picture. "The plan was to—"

"—plan's been changed. He's no longer our concern." Civil withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket, extending it. "We've been put on guard-duty."

"What?" The sheet was snatched. "Since when?"

"This morning. Where were you?" Civil snapped his fingers. "Oh wait—" He fast-forwarded through a few scenes. _Click._ "There you are."

The video began to play. No audio. Only the image of Fawn halting his footsteps to stare at a figure in the clearing, which stretched its arms and then—

The frame was stilled.

"Really?" Docks cocked his head. "You put cameras that far out?"

"Good thing I did too. You cut your com." A sigh. "What were you thinking?"

"Chris Redfield."

Scoffing. "I thought you knew better than to play with someone else's toy."

"No." Docks spun Civil's chair to face a screen on the right. Chris, Jill, and Fawn could be seen sprinting. "_Chris Redfield_."

They both stared, a whistle soon breaking the silence.

"Look at him go."

"Where's the fire?"

Suddenly, a roar echoed off in the distance, from beyond the walls.

Civil stood abruptly, knocking over an attaché case, which Docks immediately steadied.

"Watch your big feet! This shit's irreplaceable." He opened it, checking the contents. His breathe hitched. "Hey. Two samples are missing."

"I know."

"Where are they?"

Civil sucked at his teeth. "One, I tested on some village kid—" There was another roar, and he motioned with a thumb. "Which sadly ended in failure…" He lifted a hand to the base of his mask, almost pensive. "Seems titanium wasn't strong enough_…_" His voice lowered. "Wonder if I can get a refund?"

"And the other?"

"Taken by _him_ and given to that scientist. For what purpose," a shrug, "we're not paid to ask."

Docks grunted, returning his attention to the monitors. The top-left screen displayed three villagers banging on a metal door. Skin peeling like a bad sunburn, eyes shot blood red. "What about them?"

"Scratched by the one I injected. Its poison is slowly killing their brain cells, and discoloring the skin." Arms were crossed. "Anything else I need to fill you in on?"

"No…"

_Chhhh…_ The walky-talky on Civil's belt hissed to life. A long, static pause violating the air.

He unclipped it, raising it to his lips. "Yes?"

More noise.

"Hello?"

"_Open the door."_

Exchanging momentary confusion with Docks, who shrugged, he nodded. "…Copy that."

The radio was put back on its clip, prior to flipping open a small, plastic box on the table's edge, revealing a button.

"Wait." A hand interjected. "Can _he_ really be trusted?"

"No." Civil forced it away. "But he's kept up his end of the bargain with our boss, so I'll do what he asks."

_Beep._ The light above the door switched from red to green. Lock unlatching.

**...**

Bushes, boulders, or logs. Nothing could slow me down.

Breaking into a clearing, I noticed a building obscured by trees.

"Look! A facility!"

Jill saw it too.

There was a closed-off corral surrounding the area, but my current speed allowed me to jump it with ease. Mud staining my pants. I turned, making sure I wasn't too far ahead of the others.

_BAM!_ Something metallic broke open behind me.

"Chris! Watch out!"

Evading wild arms with a spin, I aimed my weapon.

It was a villager. His body hunched, covered in multiple shades of flesh. Liquid spewed from cracked and rotting lips. He came to attack again, but my trigger finger was faster. Three bullets: leg, chest— then skull.

Another took his place. Ejecting an empty clip, I grabbed for an extra in my pack, but it slipped from my wet hands. Retrieving it was risky, so I made an attempt to draw my knife.

"Move!"

No time to think twice. I dove to the side, rolling.

Jill leapt over the fence. She spun, leg connecting with the head. It popped off like a cork. She steadied her footing, gun now drawn. "These must be some of the inhabitants from the village."

I took this opportunity to salvage my dropped ammunition. "What the hell happened to them?" I reloaded with a grinding click.

Fawn, a little late to the welcoming party, finally caught up with us and Jill rushed to his side, ready to cover.

_Urrrrn._ One more infectee slowly shuffled from inside the building, and I quickly took care of it with a single bullet.

Headshot.

Within seconds, muffled wails seeped from the surrounding brush.

More villagers.

The sight was overwhelming.

_They're all infected… _It was hard to focus on whom to shoot first. "There's too many of them!" I flashed a glimpse to the facility's entrance. "Let's get inside!"

**…**

I slammed the door shut, making use of a nearby plank, wedging it through the handles. Angry hands begged on the opposite side. The sound was so deafening and distracting, that I jumped when Fawn threw himself at me.

"What are you doing? Joel— a-and Roger— they're still out there!" He tried to pry me away from the just placed barricade.

If he didn't back off I was going to reimburse him with the fist Roger gifted me earlier…

"Fawn, calm down!" Jill pulled him back.

There was a low rumble of thunder before the clattering ceased, and stillness fell; our hacked breaths the only disturbance in the air.

I stiffly released my grip on the metal frame. _Guess we're safe for the time being…_

Fawn shook himself from Jill and leaned heavily against a grimy wall. The strap of his firearm drooped limply over his shoulder.

I reached towards him, not sure what to say, but thought the gesture would be nice. Ok… Maybe it was the guilt I felt for actually thinking about hitting him. Kid had a big heart, but damn. There was a time and place for these types of things, and now wasn't one of them.

"Don't." He waved me off and I complied.

The air thickened, as well as the rain outside.

"Chris." Jill signaled to me.

"What is it?"

"I found a map." She motioned to a metal slate on the wall. "Looks like there's a communications deck on the third floor." She ran a finger over the rusted surface, giving two taps. "We should make our way there to see if we can contact HQ."

"It's worth a shot." I cast Fawn a nod. "You good?"

He stared at the cement, his bottom lip pinched. "…What about the rest of the team?"

"Listen." I tried to force back my annoyance. "The best thing to do is keep moving."

**…**

_And we did just that… However, four hallways to the left and six doors down. I hated to admit it, but—_

"I feel like we're going in circles."

"Looks like this area's been renovated." Jill shuffled through the images she took earlier on her hand-held device. "Which would explain why our current position isn't corresponding with the map."

"Great." I clicked my tongue, walking forward, palm outstretched. "Lemme see that—" There was a loud groan as the floorboards bent under my weight. I halted my strides, arms out.

_Crack… _

"Chris!" Jill swayed, the wooden beams under her affected as well. "Careful. Some of the boards must still be rotten."

"Yeah." I carefully positioned a foot. "I noticed."

"Here." She leaned out to me. "Give me your hand."

_Crack… crack…_

"No." I waved with two fingers. "Jill, stay where you are." I managed another inch, but stopped when I heard a snap. I withdrew, balancing on one leg. _Hah._ "Maybe I should consider the circus as my next career?"

She smiled wearily. "Not funny."

"Hey,—" I heard Fawn call from behind and instinctively turned.

_Mistake._

_Crack… crack… crack…_

"Fawn…" Barely above a whisper. I patted at the air, hoping he would read the situation and not approach.

"—find anything on your end?"

_Nope. Not too bright is he? _Just one more step and… _Son-of-a-bi—_

_Crash!_ The floor gave way, sending Jill and myself into to the area below.

"_Oh, shit!" _Fawn's voice was barely audible over the crumbling debris. _"Are you two ok?"_

I thought of a couple ways to reply, but couldn't. Kinda hard when you have the wind knocked out of you.

"_Come on! Someone answer!"_

"W-We're fine!" Jill was tenderly rising to a stand. "Right?"

I responded with a slow thumbs-up. _Speak for yourself._

Powering on her flashlight, she brushed her ponytail aside. Scattered crates and boxes laid torn and exposed around us. I watched her arch her neck. "The walls are too steep to climb…" She shielded her eyes. "Fawn," a cough, "you'll have to go to the communications deck by yourself."

"_O-Ok… But what should I tell HQ? Want me to ask for an extraction?"_

"N-No." I pushed myself off the ground, groaning. "We can't leave yet." Using my knees for support. "Not when we don't have any answers." I reached to my belt, bringing out my own light. "Call for back-up." _Click._ "Jill and I will try to find a way up." I illuminated one of the adjourning rooms. "We'll rendezvous on the roof."

"_But—"_

"Don't worry, you can do this."

Jill, so full of reassurance...

"_Ok."_

It was a little unnerving, leaving our fate to a kid like him… but what could I say besides— "Fawn."

There was a pause.

_Don't screw this up. _"…Good luck."

As his footsteps grew fainter, I gestured to Jill, and using our dim beams as a guide, we ventured forth into the unknown of the facility…

**…**

_For a while it was nothing but dead ends and locked doors… Until __a white blur drew my attention, rounding a corner—_

"Hey!" I pursued, Jill a little behind.

Halfway down the hall was a man, dark hair pulled back in a low ponytail.

"You!" My weapon poised. "Stop!"

Jill mimicked.

He obeyed facing us slowly, hands up; a small goatee the first memorable feature, then his striped, navy-blue suit beneath a lab coat. "Can I… help you?" His accent was thick. Russian.

"Who are you?"

" I am," he adjusted his glasses, "F-Fredek… Fredek Aristov. I work for pharmaceutical company. I am," he tugged at his collar, "humble scientist."

"Pharmaceutical company?"

I inched closer. "Tricell?"

"Alkagen."

"What are you doing here?"

Aristov raised a brow at Jill. "I should be asking you same thing. What could the," squinting to read the embroidered patch on my left arm, "_B.S.A.A._ possibly be doing in Guatemala?"

"We're asking the questions."

He glared at me. "My company," he cleared his throat. "The… company I work for recently purchased this facility. So on behalf of my… boss, I came to perform inspection."

"Does this boss have a name?"

"Of course. Do you?"

She nodded, shoulders relaxing. "Jill Valentine."

I questioned her compliance with the tilt of my head. "Chris…" I exhaled, lowering my gun. "Chris Redfield."

He gave me an uncomfortable stare before smiling, showing a golden tooth nestled among pearly whites. "Nice to meet you." He made to leave, with a small wave. "But, if you'll excuse me. I've got schedule to uphold."

_Bastard._ I twitched, advancing. "Hold on a sec."

And to my surprise, he did.

Jill took this opportunity to step past me. "Why don't you come with us?" Her face was strong. Protective.

"I'm sorry?"

"You don't appear to be armed," she looked at me, "and there could be other infectees lurking around."

I couldn't help but smirk. "Ok." _Nice call, Jill._ Not really what I had in mind, but this way we could keep an eye on him… Maybe even squeeze additional information.

This guy definitely knew more than he was letting on, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was… off. Everything seemed too…

_Nah. Maybe I'm over thinking it._

I attempted to make eye contact with Aristov, but he was preoccupied elsewhere.

_Behind me?_ I went to follow his gaze, but was interrupted when he spoke.

"Mhm. I'd rather not join you on your little expedition, but," his tone betrayed his features as he straightened out a sleeve, "it seems you leave me no other choice."


	4. Chapter 4: Reading Never Killed Anyone

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning:** Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship (later), Mpreg (later)

_Italics_ – Thoughts/Onomatopoeia(s)

**Bold** – Journal entries

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay in submissions, but the chapters just keep getting longer! So much to cover! At least it's getting interesting… right? Comments are much appreciated. Although it seems that when we ask for them, we don't get them. (Oi oi… Reverse psychology, much?) Also, we hope you enjoy reading journal entries! We know we do! Cheerios.

* * *

_It took less than thirty minutes to regret the idea of allowing Aristov to come with us…_

_He was seriously interfering with our investigation…_

_Not to mention my nerves._

**…**

"That is locked too."

My veins grew hot. I wish he'd stop announcing the state of every door we encounter. Hasn't he noticed that no matter how many times he tells me— so far it's been seven— I still have to try it for myself? I took hold of the handle tightly—

"Let us move on, mhm? That space contains nothing of importance."

"I'll be the one to decide that." —I gave it a violent shake. _Damn…_

"See?" The golden tooth was exposed, and I was tempted to let my fist greet it. "What is wrong, _Chris_? Do you no trust me?"

_Was it that obvious?_ I opened my mouth to retort—

"Chris."

Jill always did have good timing.

"I found an archive room down the hall, but it has an electronic lock, which requires a card key." She gave a nod. "Let's split up and search the—"

"No need." I turned to Aristov. "You," outstretching my palm, "let us use yours."

"Excuse me. Is that any way to ask?" He crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Besides, what makes you think I have one?"

_Was he serious?_ "You work here, for starters."

His jaw shifted. "So?"

"Aren't all staff given a card key?"

"Yes…"

"…Well?" I waved my hand, beckoning him to continue.

"Look," Jill rolled a shoulder, "do you have one or not?"

"No." A pause. "Not on me, at least." Aristov ran a hand over the front of his coat, stopping at his pant pockets. "I left it back in lab."

_Great_. "Then let's go get it—" "—We'll escort you there." Jill motioned for him to lead the way.

_You'd think a scientist would be more protective of his research and refuse our offer, not wanting to expose 'possibly important' records to strangers, let alone the B.S.A.A.… so why was this guy wearing an eager grin?_

**…**

Fawn sheepishly advanced along a dim hall on the second story; the light from his flashlight illuminating the bare, old walls. "Third floor… Third floor…" His attention darted left, then right. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of someone maneuvering through the darkness—

towards him. Concentrated strides fading into audibility.

He readied his gun, turning. There was a glimmer off a pair of shades. "Hey, you—!"

No one.

The hall stretched unoccupied. Silence stung the air.

**…**

Aristov stopped, taking a moment to admire a plaque next to a door. "Here we are." His fingers encased the knob, and after a soft click, it opened. But only slightly. "Hm?" He put his shoulder against it, pushing. "Must be stuck on something." Withdrawing. "No matter. We could always try back entrance—"

"I don't have time for this." With one strong kick we were inside, firearms ready.

Loose papers fluttered to the floor, merging amid others around and beneath a large metallic table, situated in the middle of the room.

_What a mess._

The only relatively clean areas were the marble counter tops below a broad, musty window on the farthest structure, revealing jungle brush and outside conditions.

I took a couple steps forward, shortly being forced to a halt. A hand laid stiffly before me, still connected to its owner who was hunched against the wall; bullet hole tattooed between the eyes. _Must have been what was blocking the door…_

"Oh, my." Aristov turned away. "That was… not there when I left."

Jill holstered her gun, I mine, as she inspected the corpse. "Blood's still wet. Hasn't been dead long."

"Any idea who he is?" I glanced to the doorway.

"You want me to lose my breakfast?" My gaze told him I didn't care, and he sighed. "I… can not be sure from this angle."

"Then come closer—"

"Chris. Look at these."

I shifted my focus to Jill, who was now shuffling through different colored journals on the center table.

"Seems there's a development being conducted here called, "Project-C." She eyed me. "Think it's what's responsible for the current situation in Guatemala?"

I lessened the space between us. "I don't know, but—"

"Oh, go ahead. _Please._ Help yourselves."

"You." I pointed a direct finger. "Shut up, and get your card key."

Aristov raised his hands in compliance. "Alright." No louder than a whisper.

Jill tucked a strand of hair, adjusting her hat. "Do you want to take the journals, or loose paper?"

_Neither._ I swapped my weight to the opposite foot. "Journals."

"Ok." She was quick to take action, kneeling among the atrocity of notes, beginning with those visible.

I followed suit, opening the top notebook. A groan soon escaped my lips. Whoever wrote this sure spent a lot of time documenting every moment of his or her life. However, that might be a good thing. There may be something in these about the B.O.W. we encountered earlier, or the infected villagers.

But where to begin?

I turned through a few sheets, formerly holding it aside to crack a peek at another composition. _Nice. _They're in chronological order… except reading all these would take hours, maybe even a day. Guess I'll have to use better judgment, and skim through the entries to find those most relevant.

Volume one: page thirteen.

_** January 18, 2010**_

_** Today we received the Prototype C-virus sample, just as promised, from Mr. Gepfner's partner and as lead scientist I was put in charge, along with my good friend and the new woman. **_

_** I don't remember her name. **_

_**The concept of this project is fascinating. I can't wait to get started.**_

I continued to browse. No other mention of the virus… only words I didn't quite understand.

Next volume: page twenty-three.

_** February 12, 2010**_

_** We injected a man with the virus today, and he died shortly after. I knew it was too soon to try a live specimen. I suggested to the woman that if we injected a parasite— specifically the Trichuris Trichiura— with the virus before introducing it to the host's body, we may have a better chance. She asked me, 'why the whipworm,' and I told her of its rumored cleansing properties… We'll get started tomorrow.**_

_**Imagine, being able to smoke or drink without having to worry about lung cancer or kidney failure. If we could actually pull this off, it would be a life changing discovery.**_

I had to scoff at the last paragraph. Sure. Even I miss a cigarette, but doesn't that defeat the purpose of self limitation and will power? Once you take fear out of the equation, what's left to stop you?

Volume three: page forty-five.

_**March 29, 2010**_

_**The parasite does exactly what I predicted, and we've also managed to extend the incubation period required for growth. Nine hours seem to be the minimum, eleven hours max, until the parasite can't ingest anymore, resulting in the regurgitation of toxins into the host's system, immediately killing the subject.**_

_**There is, however, the option of surgery before the parasite reaches its limit, which would, theoretically, save the subject from perishing.**_

I cringed. How many lives did these people have to destroy to achieve this stage? This type of career isn't a cake-walk… Must be hard to stay sane.

Volume four: page fifteen.

_**April 05, 2010**_

_**We were able to obtain a group of volunteers, and are preparing them for the surgical trial:**_

_**Subject E, Breast cancer  
**_

_**Subject D, Tuberculosis  
**_

_**Subject C, Brain tumor  
**_

_**Subject B, Alzheimer's disease**_

_**Subject A, Addison's disease – her participation in the project has been delayed due to special circumstances**_

I glanced up, taking a quick break. _I haven't read this much since the mansion incident… and Africa_. My gaze traveled to the floor, which wasn't as chaotic as earlier; Jill was neatly sorting her findings into various piles.

As for Aristov, he had followed my previous suggestion about closing the distance between himself and the corpse…

…but he didn't have to get that close.

"Recognize him?"

He jumped and withdrew from the body with a side step. "N-No. I do not." Straightening out, he adjusted his sleeve. "However, I did find my card." He flashed it at me.

"Ok. Just… wait there." I exhaled deeply. _Back to the grind…_

Page twenty.

_**April 17, 2010**_

_**The results are phenomenal! I think we've finally done it! Though the subjects experienced slight convulsions upon injection, after a brief black out their vitals returned to normal. Subject E was the only volunteer to die during surgery. I believe this happened because her biological structure was too weak…**_

_**We informed Mr. Gepfner of our progression and he was pleased, yet expressed great disappointment. It seems he wants a way to cure Subject A without having her succumb to such a procedure.**_

_**I also believe that it is best. With her immune system the way it is now, she would not survive an operation. We don't want another tragedy like Subject E…**_

_**My next course of action will be to program the Trichuris Trichiura to dissolve itself after completing its cycle. This alteration will probably take a week's time to complete, but afterwards I should have immediate results.**_

_ Heh. _Seems God complexes come with the territory. Kinda reminds me of a certain someone… _Why did I just think that?_ I shook my head. _Moving on…_

Volume six— _wait, what?_ I looked over previous journals, comparing spines.

Volume five was missing.

I clicked my tongue. _Oh well_…_ Beggars can't be choosers._

Page sixty-seven… _Hey, this is yesterday's date_.

_**June 24, 2010**_

_**Today, the C-virus will be tested on the West village renowned for its high mortality rate, ranging from the common cold to more serious diseases. I placed Subject C is in charge of this trial.**_

_**Hope all goes well…**_

**.**

_**I was discerned to find that the parasite did not dissolve, but instead broke out of the host. Perhaps I altered the wrong genes, reversing my intentions.**_

_**The fence we placed in case of emergency seems to be containing it for now, but it has started merging with other organisms… Something I did not predict.**_

_**On another note, it has grown substantially in less than twelve hours. The villagers are calling it, "El dios," the "supreme being."**_

_**We also discovered that by direct contact with the parasite's newly formed claws, one is at risk of becoming infected, undergoing cell decomposition, which greatly affects the brain, turning victims into mindless and hungry monsters.**_

_**What have I created? I must rewrite my wrongs, and quickly… Before it's too late.**_

The last few pages were torn; only detached sheets inked with weird equations remained.

"Chris." Jill approached me from behind. "I couldn't find anything useful on my end. What about you?"

"Yeah. Hit the jackpot." I offered her my current volume. "Take a look at this." She took it tenderly as I picked up the last journal.

We both read in silence.

Volume seven: page one. Today's date was at the top.

_**June 25, 2010**_

_**Something's wrong. A few of my research notes are missing. I believe that they were stolen. But by who? The only other people who have access to my lab are…**_

_**No. It can't be… But for what purpose? I will have to confront that person later.**_

_**F…**_

The signature was too blurred to make out.

"This entry... about the claws." Jill examined her page, front and back. "Saunders…" I noticed her eyes growing heavy. "Do you know if he was… I mean, did you see him get scratched?"

_Never thought of that. _"I don't think so, but—"

_WHAM!_

We looked up in unison and I found myself exhaling, brow wrinkling. "Guess that answers your question."

There he stood. Long lost Saunders, just beyond the fogged and moldy glass in front of us, feeling it up with wet kisses, lips bloody. One of his arms was missing, the other bent. His head tilted curiously, a single eye moving, before dashing out of sight. _Was he looking for a way to get in?_

"Aristov," turning, "stay close—"

The room was empty, door rocking softly; a card key discarded on the tiles— in plain sight. _Well, if that didn't scream suspicion, I don't know what did…_

Confusion stained Jill's complexion. "Where is he?"

The remote sound of metal opening and closing was our only lead, and I found myself pondering which would be worse: if Saunders got to Aristov first…

Or I did.

**...**

Reaching the stair's summit, Fawn paused to refill his lungs. The hall before him was short. Two doors. One broken. The other in fairly good condition, paired with a short-circuiting sign reading, 'Communications.'

"Yes!" In less than four strides he was at his destination, but his excitement was soon replaced by anger when he noticed rusted handles, locked with a small chain. "Fuck!" He slapped the metal frame. "This is just great." He rocked where he stood, pulling at his hair.

Minutes passed.

"Wait a sec. My gun!" Twisting it around he used the butt, and after try three he was successful.

Broken links played to the floor.

_FWUMP!_ He slammed his shoulder into the freed access and it popped right off the hinges. He entered with a stumble. A desk of controls sat before him.

All off.

He glued himself to the board, looking over switches, toggling a few. The equipment began to hum alive, warming up. Relief slipped past his lips as he pushed a couple more buttons. "I hope this works."

_Click._ Something cold and hard was pressed against his skull.

"_Oh…_" There was a deep chuckle, followed by a purr. "I don't think so."

**…**

_There was no sign of Aristov, but since we had the card key we decided to make our way back to the electronically locked room…_

I input the thin piece of plastic into the scanner, and it beeped open. A stale gust of air met my face and I gave a small cough, covering my mouth, before swapping to my handgun.

Like the previous room, this too was vacant. Say for a set of lockers neighboring a row of bookshelves, next to another door.

_That must be the back entrance Aristov was talking about._ I tried to get a better look at where it led, but was distracted by the wall to our right, which was dedicated to various documents, strung up by tape and pins.

Jill proceeded ahead of me, burying her nose in the papers. You wouldn't really take her for a bookworm at first glance, but she's quite the reader. Me on the other hand, I couldn't be bothered.

"What are they?"

"Records of the base Irving destroyed in Africa."

_OK. On second thought…_ I leaned on her shoulder, as she began to strategically peel charts and reports free.

"They're all addressed to Executive Director Sylon Gepfner." Jill perked. "That name…"

"Yeah. It was mentioned in the journals."

"Think he was working with Tricell?"

"I don't know—" A clunk, followed by a gasp from a nearby locker caught my attention. "But maybe whoever's in here can tell us!" I kicked the metal slate open, hoping it was Aristov, but a new face crumbled to the floor, immediately putting his hands up in surrender. We surrounded him, weapons poised.

"P-Please don't shoot!"

_Great. Another white coat. _"Who are you?"

"M-My name is A-A-Adem Ahmet."

Poor bastard looked close to tears.

"D-Don't hurt me. Please." Cowering. "P-Please…"

I returned the safety to my gun, pocketing it, as I took the records Jill had removed. "What's your connection to Tricell?" I gave them a wave.

"T-Tricell?" He sheepishly peeked up. "…There is no connection. Yes, their company tried to purchase this land," confidence began seeping into his words, "but ours got here first."

"And who do you work for?"

"Alkagen Pharmaceuticals."

"Same company as Aristov." Jill was careful not to let her focus stray.

"Aristov?" Ahmet's complexion paled. "Fredek Aristov?"

I tilted my head. "You know him?"

"He's my colleague. I lost contact with him this morning." Gripping at my arm. "Where did you see him? I have to tell him about the assignment... I was… given…" His eyes were glued to my embroidered B.S.A.A. logo. _Seems it's quite popular today._ "This patch… …is it real?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oh, god. Then that means you're…"

"Mmhm."

"And this operation is…"

"Yeah." _Talk about a deer in the headlights…_

He withdrew, palms raised. "I didn't do anything— they forced me!"

"Try telling that to a judge."

"Y-You can't detain me—"

"Watch us."

"—I-I have so much to lose. My family…" He shielded his mouth. "Please, allow me one more task— just one more!" He was violently shaking, and I couldn't tell if it was from the oncoming sobs or fear. But I did recognize something: his darting eyes and positioning feet. _You've got to be kidding me—_

With a piercing wail Ahmet fled from the room, a shoulder clipping the frame, which threw him slightly off balance, but he kept going.

_Dammit! Why does everyone run when confronted by authority?_

**…**

_We pursued and almost thought we lost him— until another cry sounded from around the corner._

"Fredek!"

_Perfect. I'm going to shoot them both… but what a coincidence._ Jill and I, once again, found ourselves in front of the lab where Aristov ditched us. _Why did he come back?_

We entered to see Ahmet kneeling beside a body, the corpse we found earlier— the door blocker.

"No. No! No!No!" His hands attempted to make contact, but didn't. "Fredek. Fredek—"

"What!"

Jill stepped beside me. "_This_ is Fredek Aristov?"

He nodded, drawing in a shaky breath as he gathered the courage to pat the body's chest. "My friend, how could this happen? He told me he wouldn't— you two were just supposed to talk!" His shoulders shuddered.

"Talk? Talk about what?" _Wait, scratch that—_ "Who's _he_?"

Only whimpers.

"Hey!" I reached out to grab him. "Answer me!"

"Chris!" Jill hugged at my bicep, but I didn't let that stop me.

"Who are you talking about?"

His lips moved and I expected a reply, but it never came. Instead, he silently mouthed a word—which vaguely looked like my name. _Did it mean something to him?_

"I asked you a question!"

Ahmet's eyes grew wide, lips parted and he shied away, reaching into his coat pocket.

With Jill as a hindrance, I only managed to hook the base of his collar, which wasn't enough to turn him around…

But I didn't need to.

He faced me himself, simultaneously slipping his jacket before stabbing my upper limb with—

_A-A needle!_

"T-This is all your fault!" He pushed the plunger down, the dark purplish, pink liquid disappearing.

I snapped back in a stagger, quickly removing the syringe.

"Chris!"

With shaky hands I glanced down. There was a white sticker labeled, 'W/C3BJ-06,' on the side. _That's new. _I felt a mix of pain and fear. "What the hell… did you just inject me with?!"

Ahmet ducked from my arms, scrambling away and out of sight; Jill hesitantly pivoted towards me.

"I'll be fine!" Holding back a moan, I waved at the door. "Just… go after him!"

"But—" "Go, Jill!"

She gave me one last look. "…I'll come back for you!"

I waited until she was gone before releasing a sharp gasp.

_This can't be happening. Eleven years in this career, and not once have I been careless enough to let myself get attacked by anything… other than a monster. How did I not see that coming? …Maybe I am getting old?_

I reached for the table's edge, but missed, meeting the cold tiles face first. Which wasn't half bad, because my chest was burning.

_Shit! _That syringe better not have been filled with what I think it was…

The room began to spin uncontrollably, hanging lights adding ridiculous amounts of addition to my surroundings, which got even worse when trying to stand. In the end, all I could manage was to roll onto my back.

Sounds amplified, and I distinctly heard someone approaching…

"Jill…" I assumed— straining my neck.

It was useless.

My vision was almost at its end. However, in that short amount of time I caught the outline of a diffused face, black holes for eyes. _Hmph._ If I didn't know any better, I'd say they kinda looked like sunglasses—

I choked, throat tightening.

No.

My brain had a really crappy sense of humor, because there was no way it was—

"Long time no see… _Chris_."

* * *

**Extra Note(s):**

Even though we're posting this story now, we had a general idea for it when we beat RE5 in 2009. The ending is currently being revised, to tie into 6, but we _were_ going to call the virus "C-virus" for "Chris-virus." ...Yes. VERY unoriginal, but hey— IT'S THE VIRUS IN RE6!

We knew when we got back to our flat and the lights were on, that something was wrong! Damn CAPCOM scientists! They stole our research! (A joke. No offence intended.)

P.S. We just wanted to say "Thank You" to—

**Trollestia**

**MissBluelithium**

**bloody raptor**

**Cannibal Beast**

**Making It Up**

**ZaraZabuza**

**and a Guest**

— for reviewing our story. Your comments made us want to continue writing! THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH!


	5. Chapter 5: Returned, in Mint Condition

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning:** Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship, Mpreg (later), Angst-ish?

_Italics_ – Emphasized words/Thoughts/Flashbacks/Onomatopoeia(s)/Off-screen voice(s)

**Bold **– Subject B's voice

**A/N:** Finally! Took us long enough to introduce the best character of all time! Oh yes, baby! Bring in the reviews! Haha! Wrote this at a mate's house on our laptop. Good times. Cheers.

* * *

_I should have known..._

_Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt those rockets wouldn't be enough to keep him down; only hoped they could…_

_The state of the village and its inhabitants… This whole situation practically screamed Kijuju— so why did I need to see him in person to finally accept it?_

**…**

My eyes shot open— a little too fast for comfort— and I only managed a glimpse at the bleached ceilings above, before sight became overbearing. Squinting was out of the question, so I decided to start over, blacking my surroundings and taking a few concentrated breaths.

_How long was I out?_

Letting them adjust slowly this time, I glanced to my right, beginning with whatever was visible. Trailing from the top, I saw the window, cabinets, then tiles.

_Last thing I remember is a needle and—_

"Took you long enough." There was a sarcastic sneer. "I was beginning to tire of waiting."

The sound of a folder closing reached my ears, followed by the ruffling of cloth, and the creak of a chair

_Damn…_ Here I was hoping it was just a dream.

I hissed, flexing my fists. "Wesker." Feeling was gradually returning. _Must have been a muscle relaxant…_ though my gut was screaming otherwise. "How the hell—"

"Am I still alive?" "—did you get to Guatemala?"

A small pause. "Don't you want to know how I survived?" Disappointment was apparent.

"No." I tried to arch my back, grunting. "Because it probably has something to do with your damn virus."

"Perceptive." I heard him stand. "…And I took a plane."

_Pft. With what passport? _After his supposed 'death' at the volcano, the B.S.A.A.— mostly me— kept an eye on anything that might have indicated Albert Wesker, once again, played possum. From surveying airports to tracking credit cards… all of which turned up empty. So what's this bullshit about flying?_ Unless…_

"My own personal jet."

_Figures._ I hesitantly turned my head to look at him.

Years ago, on Rockfort Island, his face was scarred by fire and falling debris, yet when reunited at the Spencer Estate, there wasn't a scratch on him… But that doesn't compare to bathing in lava and being decapitated by two RPGs. So I wasn't really sure what to expect. Either a disfigured monster or—

Our gazes interlocked... or at least I think they did. Hard to tell with those shades…

There he stood: Albert Wesker.

Mint condition.

Even his outfit looked the same… _Probably was._ And although he was still human in appearance on the outside, I had a feeling he was all Uroboros on the inside. _More-so than last…_

"Baby blue."

"…What?"

"Your eyes. They looked darker the last time I saw you." He exhaled deeply. "Angier… You've gone soft." I saw a brief flash behind filmed lenses. "Means you'll be easier to break."

My fingers twitched. "Sorry, but I'm not a horse."

The sensation was back in my upper body, but my legs on the other hand, remained unresponsive.

_Looks like I'll have to stall him a bit longer… _but how?The sole option I had was to continue conversation… Which really wasn't my forté, and I couldn't think of anything to say besides: "What are you planning to do after you 'break' me, anyways? Ride me?"

Witty—

"Doesn't seem like a bad idea."

—but not my best choice of words.

His booted feet drew closer. "You've always been a thorn in my side, Chris." He crouched beside me, tilting his head. "So I only think it's fair I became a stick up your ass." His mouth curved up, mine the opposite.

_Isn't he just full of analogies? _"I'd like to see you try."

"Oh, don't tempt me." He regained his posture, flicking a wrist. "Humiliating you would be so much _fun_."

_Should have bit my tongue._

On a brighter note, I managed to move a toe.

_Guess that's my cue._

Sharply filling my lungs, I bent a leg and made a sweep, successfully connecting with a left calf, before doing an immediate back roll under the table. I sloppily rose to my feet, grabbing an edge for support; Wesker did the same.

"Not bad." His light expression from earlier was now replaced by familiar anger.

_Uh-oh. _I tried not to gulp.

_With just the metal structure between us, I found myself wondering how this would end… _

**…**

A small, curly brunette sat on an old area rug, playing among Spanish yarn dollies, with Docks and Civil perched stiffly on a battered couch behind her, watching.

"Kid hasn't touched her food."

A bowl of warm plantains coated in pudding was assembled on a nearby tray, a thin layer of liquid settling on the surface.

"I can see that."

"Get her to eat it." Civil glanced to a folded piece of paper on the side table next to him. "The directions were—"

"'To conform devious plan in making _little princeza_ consume edibles because prescribed medication is concealed within.'" Docks used various fingers for emphasis when pronouncing certain words in a failed mock of the Russian accent. "…Think she knows?"

"I doubt it. She's eight."

They both looked up concurrently to see blue eyes locked on them, whilst braiding a blonde doll's woolen mane.

Docks cleared his throat, uncrossing his legs as he leaned forward to rest elbows on knees. "Bronz should be handling this. Man's got patience." He massaged the sides of his mask, below his temples. "I'm not meant to be wasting my time baby-sitting—"

"—Guarding."

"I crave action. No. I _want _action." He rolled his shoulders. "Give me action."

"OK." Civil rose to a stand and within a few strides he was at the young girl's side, snatching the horribly stitched humanoid from tiny fists.

There was a surprised gasp, followed by a whimper.

"You want Barbie?" He stalked away, unlatching a nearby window, before giving the entity in his hand a shake.

The child's eyes began to puff, nose reddening.

"Eat your food," he directed her attention to the bowl, "and Docky there will be more than happy to retrieve it for you." He released the doll, and it slipped from sight.

Docks was now on his feet. "Are you insane?" Approaching. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you!"

"You wanted action, well there you have it." Civil pushed at the glass panel, widening the gap. "Now go procure her damn toy. First floor, one room over."

"Son-of-a-bi—"

"_Excuse_ me." A white coat stood in the rear doorway. "What is going on?"

The child quickly scrambled to her feet. "Daddy!" The sadness in her face immediately replaced by joy.

"Aunya, darling." Strong arms embraced her with an oof. "Have you been good girl?"

She nodded with a squeak.

"What's with the get-up, boss?" Civil nonchalantly guided the pane to a close, locking with a click. "Isn't that—"

"_His _suggestion, not mine." Removing the lab jacket, he straightened his striped, navy blue suit. "Considering circumstances." Aunya trailed behind him and leaned between his legs when he sat on the sofa. He pat her hair, pulling off his glasses.

"What do you mean?" "What circumstances?"

"Let's just say situation was… unfortunate, yes?

"_A mole?" Fredek abruptly stood from his chair, his medium build rigid. "Mr. Gepfner, you can't be serious!"_

"_I am." Papers were siphoned onto a table. "Here are various emails to rivaling companies and bargaining offers to U.S. government." The rest were tossed to the floor. "How much did they offer you, mhm? Double— triple the amount I'm paying?"_

"_Those aren't mine! Sylon, please!" Unstable vision traveled to Wesker, who stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing a frown. "You've got to believe me! I've done nothing wrong!"_

_Silence stung the air._

_Fredek perked."Wait— my journals," a finger was waved, "check my journals! Volume eight— it's all there!"_

"_What is?"_

_He flinched at Wesker's tone. "E-Evidence that proves I'm telling the truth."_

_Black boots made their way to a pile of composition notebooks, which were examined. "…It's not here."_

"_W-What?"A step was attempted._

"_I don't think so." Wesker poised his magnum. "Does it even exist, or are you trying to deceive me?"_

_Hands went up in surrender. "Sir, I am an honest, hard-working man, who has been with you since the beginning of this project." Eyes darted to both parties. "This experiment is my life's work, and I wouldn't do anything to sabotage it, or the company." His voice rose. "Can't you see you're being misled?"_

_Sylon's eyes narrowed. "Are you calling us blind?"_

"_N-No. I'm just saying that there IS a mole within Alkagen, but I'm not it. You're accusing the wrong person!"_

_There was a stare down._

"_L-Look. if you have any doubt in your heart about my innocence, then please, by all means," arms opened, "kill me—"_

"_Pleasure."_

"However," Gepfner pinched the bridge of his nose, "Fredek was not the only scientist here. Muller is just as good at her job as he was his." Aunya's cheek was gently squeezed, receiving a smile. "Perhaps better."

Civil stiffened at the name. "That woman… she can't be trusted."

"I didn't ask for your opinion… Now, matters aside." He rubbed his daughter's arm. "Has she eaten?"

"Aha ha, about that..." Docks motioned to the stale, mushy meal, which brought upon a frown.

"Why you no eat, _bruchett_?" His voice was stern, but concerned.

Aunya shied away. "…I don't feel good."

An awkward, heavy silence filled the room.

"Soon, my dear… Your father is doing everything he can to make little princeza well."

Civil made a soft ahem, breaking the reoccurring stillness. "Say boss, where's Bronz? Wasn't he with you?"

"Apparently, there are more than two rats running around," Gepfner shifted his posture, "so I asked him to take care of problem." Trailing off in thought. "…Not quite the smartest bunch, mhm?" A mumble.

"Come again?"

"Those B.S.A.A. members." He waved a wrist, before resting into the couch, pulling Aunya with him. "Who knew it would be so easy to manipulate them?" Legs were crossed and he massaged his bristly chin. "They played right into my hand, following every clue like dogs." A golden tooth peeked through lips. "Such a shame they have to be put down."

**…**

Feminine footsteps traveled through multiple corridors, stopping occasionally to listen for movement.

"Damn. He's fast." Jill shook her head in dismay, wiping the sweat on her brow.

After a few more paces she turned, meeting a dead end.

"Shoot!" She released a heavy sigh, pausing to look back the way she came. "…You better be ok, Chris—" The beam of her flashlight dulled significantly, pulsing darkness. "Oh, come on." She tapped the handle a couple times, and it steadied.

"_W-What are you doing? No— NO!"_

There was a series of loud clangs reverberating from somewhere nearby.

"Ahmet?"

Grunts and the scraping of cloth accompanied more bangs.

"_You are… problem?__"_ The voice was soft. Croaky, holding a slight British accent.

"_No. No. No!No!NO! Please! Subject B, I'm not the enemy! I'm not!"_

"_**Problem…**__"_

Jill jogged forward, slowly peering around every corner she encountered.

The dialogue grew louder.

"_I helped cure you! Remember? You were suffering from—"_ A gasp. _"God, don't tell me… your illness, it's back?"_

"_**Must…take care… of problem.**__"_

"_N-No! Stop! STOOOAAHH—"_

There was a hard snap, then a thud.

Jill came to an abrupt halt, hurriedly clicking her light off when a bulky shadow emerged from an archway three-feet in front. She tried to hide, but clipped the edge of an empty bucket and it toppled, rolling.

The figure stood, stalk still, before toggling a switch on the wall. With a huff, brightness illuminated the hall.

Jill drew her weapon, raising it in alarm.

A very hulkish man remained frozen, face exposed, body hidden by a blanched biohazard suit. His expression placid, dark hair disheveled. "Oh, the cleaning crew? You're early." Sophistication rolled off his tongue. "It seems there's a bit of a mess in here." He turned, but not his head. "Soap and water's over there. Be a dear and clean it up, would you?"

"…Wait—"

"I'm afraid I can't. There's somewhere I… ha**ve** **to…** **be…**" He stalked away, taking a different passage, leaving Jill baffled.

"Hey, hold on a sec!" Five long strides brought her to the man's previous position, but the hall stretched empty. "What the…" She was tempted to pursue, but curiosity tickled the back of her neck and she glanced to the room she was mistakenly asked to tidy, before stepping inside.

Gloom greeted her, air heavy and the smell of chemicals invaded her nose. She gave a cough, repowering her battery-operated torch.

"Oh my god!"

Crimson laced the walls.

**…**

We circled the table.

Wesker pursuing leisurely as I made best to retreat, using the table for support. It was kinda like playing musical chairs, except no one wanted to take a seat.

With my vision constantly fading out of focus, I tried not to let my eyes wander, but was easily distracted when the corner of lips rose. _He was definitely planning his next move, _and I had to be ready—

_BANG! _Hands were thrown onto the metallic surface, shoulders hunched like a cat ready to pounce.

I regret giving him the pleasure of seeing me startled, but I was just that. I half expected him to jump the damn thing.

Wesker mused, relaxing into a lean. "Aw." He rested his chin on an open palm. "Scared?"

_Did I really have to answer that?_

I'm standing before a man who was impaled by a Tyrant, crushed by falling beams, thrown out a window off a cliff, shot point-blank, fell from a bomber jet— parachute-less— and stood waist deep in lava— unfazed, while screaming my name— prior to eating two rockets… and let's not forget overdosing on Uroboros.

I'm kinda running out of ideas on how to kill this bastard. _If that didn't end him… what the hell will?_

"It's been a while since we've had time alone like this: you and I."

_Where the hell did that come from—_ was he flirting with me? _…This isn't like him._

I glanced to a clock on the wall, tucked behind cabinet shutters; tick-tock, seconds were wasting…

_I have to get outta here… But how? Once I leave the safety of this table, I'm a goner. …Unless I use a diversion?_

My eyes circled the room.

_There's that, but would it work? …Hah. Only one way to find out… _I feigned a confident grin. "Alone, huh? Where'd you get that impression?"

Wesker frowned. "What?"

I pointed at the big window behind him. "Jill, do it now!"

He immediately turned, drawing his magnum.

_Nice! _Taking this opportunity, I bolted for the doorway, leaping over Fredek's corpse.

I could hear the click of a tongue accompanied by a growl.

"_Can't believe I fell for that."_

_Me neither_, but at least I got a head start.

I quickly scrambled down the hall, dashed across an adjoining room, jumped over a table, and rammed my shoulder against the first door I saw, which swung open with my weight. _Talk about adrenaline rush…_

"_Oh, there's nowhere to run, Chris!" _Wesker's firm voice drew closer._"I'll get you,"_ a booming laugh,_ "one way or another."_

Seductive and cocky.

Just the way I remember it.

I rounded another curve, and without warning numbness washed over me, my legs deciding to take a quick break. I lurched forward, suppressing a gagged moan when my knees hit the rough ground; loose sediments grinding under my protective gear.

And that's when I heard it.

"_Are you even trying?"_

Right behind me.

Putting my dilemma aside, I snapped to my feet with a spin. Obscured amber orbs greeted me—

then a fist.

I fell backwards, saving myself with a roll, before reaching for my handgun. _Where—_

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk." Wesker waved my firearm in his hand. "I took the liberty of disarming you while you took a nap."

I reached over my shoulder—

"Your knife too."

He gave me his famous, sanctimonious smile.

"Hope you don't mind."

_Oh, I do… _but I knew that even if I asked nicely he wouldn't give it back.

I let silence hold the conversation as my gaze shifted to the magnum hidden under his coat when he pocketed my gun.

_What's he waiting for? He obviously has the upper hand— as much as I hate to admit it... So why—_

"Your resistant is futile."

"…And what exactly am I resisting?"

"_Me_."

_Great… I feel more crazy talk comin' on._

"I'm interested, Chris—"

_Here we go…_

"—how _did_ you manage to find out about this place?" He inspected an open palm, turning it over as if to look at nails, hidden by leather.

_That had to be the most practical question he's asked today._ "Sorry, but I'm not going to answer that."

"Such loyalty." His eyes flashed behind dark glass and he raised a brow. "Then let me guess." Loosely clenching his fist. "Someone by the name of _Walker Berets _tipped you off, perhaps?"

As if on cue, lightning sounded in the background, giving an ominous presence to the already tense atmosphere.

_Too good for a mere guess. So how the hell...? _I felt my lips part slightly. Probably looked as dumbfounded as I felt.

"It was an anagram of my name." He shook his head with a sigh. "Couldn't have given you my real one, after all."

_If I had a notepad handy I'd probably be verifying what he just claimed, but I didn't, so I'm gonna go with what I know._

"Cut the crap!" I waved an arm in denial. "Walker Berets has been a reputable source with the B.S.A.A. for more than half a year!"

"That's what I love about your organization, so quick to follow orders without asking questions: the _perfect_ little soldiers."

"But his record was clean. It all checked out! He even aided us in—"

"Taking down a few pharmaceutical companies by providing crucial information on their corruption?"

_I'm beginning to see a pattern here._

"Have you forgotten I'm good with computers?" He wriggled a few fingers at me. "So easy to manipulate data."

I opened my mouth—

"No need to thank me."

_I wasn't._

"It was _your_ performance that destroyed Alkagen's competitors." He gave me an applause; one, two. "Commendable." His lips peeled back with a sinister laugh. "Admit it. You bit the hook, and I reeled you in."

"You bastard." I clenched my fists. "It was all a set up?"

"Now you're catching on."

I advanced a step. "What could you possibly hope to accomplish with all of this?" My hands played my emotions. "Umbrella's gone and your plans with Tricell failed! There's nothing left for you!"

Despite all my insults— yes, I'm pretty sure that arrogant, narcissistic asshole considered them so— his eyes stayed glued to me, that taunting smile still plastered in stone.

"How are you feeling, Chris?"

"Wha—?" Was the vein on my forehead not visible enough? _And what the hell did that have to do with anything?_ "This has nothing to do with me—"

"Oh, that's where you're wrong. This has _everything_ to do with you. It's always been about you." He released a breath through clenched teeth. "The rest of the world just doesn't understand—"

"And you think I do?"

"Since the beginning, I've wanted you by my side. Together, our forces combined," anger stained his features, "we could have made this world a Utopia!"

"Save it, Wesker! You know that'll never happen!"

A low snort.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh... it's already too late for you." With the flick of a wrist, his shades were off and flying in my direction.

_Déjà vu, much?_ But I wasn't going to fall for the same trick twice. I shuffled a foot, taking a defensive stance. Not very intimidating when weaponless, but I had to make due.

However, between his throw and my reaction time, he had already made his move; deflecting my extended fist and using it as leverage to flip me.

He caught his sunglasses, single-handedly, before my body even had time to hit the ground.

_Seems that damn pair of plastic is the only thing he cares about…_

After a bragging smirk, he tossed them aside.

_Or not._

I barely managed to hoist myself onto my elbows when he lowered himself across my hips, releasing a soft purr, chin down.

"How disappointing." His naked eyes were lustful and strong— with a hint of murder.

"God… damn you… Wesker!" My body screamed, opposing his weight

"Gods can't damn other gods." He let a hand explore my neck. "Only humans can." He clamped down.

I gulped in a painful gasp, moaning when he shifted closer, his hot breath moistening my face.

"Get… off me!" I thrashed beneath him, but his grip tightened— almost bone-crushing.

I watched his Adam's apple bob as he chuckled. "Last time I managed to get my hands on you like this was at the… Spencer Estate, wasn't it?" The right side of his mouth twitched, trying to subdue amusement. "Too bad there's no _Jill _to save you this time."

_ Huh?_

He crashed his lips onto mine, biting and sucking hungrily. I tried to push him back, but he was just too… good. _Shit. Did I really just think that?_

"It'll be like… old times… eh Chris?" He pulled away with a satisfied breath. "You remember, don't you?" He advanced again, smirking against my ear, nipping at the lobe. "In the _office_." A hissing whisper.

With his rough jaw pressed to my cheek, I could smell that bitter, but familiar cologne scent.

My abdomen tensed.

…_How could I forget?_

* * *

**Extra Note(s):**

By the way, "_bruchett_" does NOT mean anything. We just thought it would be cute if Aunya's papa gave her a pet name!

Also, another great, BIG "Thank You" to all those who reviewed [4. Chapter 3]:

**ShivaTheDestroyer**

**williewildcat**

**tntfriday13 **

**ZaraZabuza**

**Rasha The Dark Uchiha**

**a Guest**

**Xx15PinstripesxX (Guest)**

**the green ace of clubs**

**everanimelover**

**Kage Mirai**

**and Millenia (Guest)**

We will continue to express our gratitude to those who leave a comment, because they are just as important as our submissions!

P.S. To those who just browse through (without an account), be a guest and review, por favor! Takes us about a week to write it, and you read it in under twenty minutes… A little appreciation would be greatly rewarding! So R/R!


	6. Chapter 6: Welcome to the Rodeo (CLEAN)

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning: **Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship, Mpreg

_Italics_ - Emphasized words/Thoughts/Flashbacks/Onomatopoeia(s)

**Bold** – Cargo lift's electronic voice (female)/ Subject B's alter-ego?

**A/N:** Thank you for being patient with us! Complications arose, pursued, were overcome… and now the chapter is finally here! Sorry for the length, we would have cut it in two, but there was a specific part we wanted to reach _because_ it's the halfway point! (Following submissions will MOST DEFINITELY be shorter!)

Also, we realized we never indicated any characteristics of the OCs we created… so be prepared for some random features. (We'll go back through the older chapters and add surroundings/imagery at a later date.)

Anyways, please, we implore you, R/R! Cheers!

**REMINDER:** For those of you who are new to this story, or just missed the small post regarding CH6; this chapter was edited as a CLEAN version, in order to stay within the limits of FanFiction's M-rating. So any page containing intercourse has been censored. But no worries, the EXPLICIT version has been posted on our LiveJournal account, and the link can be found on our homepage!

* * *

_Back then I was weak… I couldn't find the strength to resist him. But that was the past me, and I've learned from my mistakes._

_After everything I've been through… I won't let it happen again._

_I can't._

**…**

_There was a time when I felt compelled to impress Albert Wesker._

_Determined to make a name for myself. To prove my skills. A shared desire of every recruit on my team. However, fortunately, without much effort, my potential was noticed, giving me the chance to become the reputable member I strove to be._

_And I humbly succeeded. Risking my life on multiple occasions, following all orders to the T… _

_But at what cost?_

_My loyalty left me blind, and the aftermath was a battlefield, leaving me stained with painful memories; the kind you cringe at when opening a photo album, knowing now that it was all a lie._

…_That proud smile and occasional dry laugh… Was any of it real?_

"I see these six months apart didn't leave much room for improvement."

Bypassing the wittiness of his tenor, I tried to calm my pounding chest, before opening my eyes. His _punch line_ definitely needed some work, but at least it saved me from getting wrapped in tender history, which was something I needed to avoid… at all costs.

"If you get off me," a huff slipped past my clenched expression, tone contradicting what I was trying to flaunt, "I'll show you somethin' new." Though I had nothing up my sleeve…

And Wesker knew this.

"Such arrogance." Orbs glinted irritation with curled lips as his seize strengthened around my throat, pinching protruding veins; his warm breath baking the bristles and pores of my face. "You ruined me, Chris."

_Argh. Looks like we both need to let go of the past..._

"Still… blaming others for your failures?" I threw a head butt and— because of earlier pressed distance— managed a hit. "Wake up, Wesker! You ruined yourself!"

Can't say I counted on my attack having that much power, but since he showed signs of disclosure during collision, decided to go all the way; taking the opportunity to disengage his hand with a forearm.

However, I jumped the gun.

He merely shifted from the impact and promptly returned, striking my cheek bone with a set of curled knuckles.

There was an audible _oof_ on my behalf.

Wesker snarled, clamping fingers over my mouth as he rose, pulling me to my feet. "I'm going to make you pay for everything you've done."

I began a muffled retort, only to receive an annoyed roll of the eyes, before he swapped his clutch to my vest collar.

"I beg your pardon?"

I cleared my throat through a choke. "Stopping… a madman, destroying Umbrella, and thwarting all plans on releasing a biohazard on Earth?" I tried a struggle. "I take that as a pretty big _accomplishment_, and not something to be sorry for— I don't regret any of it!"

_Hrn._ A lopsided grin befell once livid features, and I was convinced my rebuttal was going to award me another punch, but it never came. Instead, he settled for a resilient shake on my tiptoes.

"I'd expect no less from my best man."

Sure, I was used to his death threats. Always motivating me to look over my shoulder, wondering when he'd execute the final blow; but the compliments, those stung the most. Generally because I didn't know whether to be grateful or scared… and I detested being caught in-between so I just had to know. "What is this, a love-hate relationship?"

"No, Chris." Wesker's back stiffened. "It's a _hate-love_ association. Hate being the stronger component in our equation."

_Trust him to twist my words._ "Right, whatever helps you sleep at night."

I knew he wasn't the type to appreciate dry humor when teeth grated in displeasure— but maybe that was because I kicked him, and as soon as my feet touched ground, I planted a round-house on his chest.

In addition to his stumble, along with my gathered space, I caught a glimpse at where he pocketed my handgun, as well as his magnum, and lunged forward. Either would do. _Preferably the Samurai Edge_, but he moved aside with ease and I hit the wall—

Once.

Then as I regained composure and pushed away, twice— due to a strong palm enforcing the back of my skull.

"Pathetic."

_Oh yeah? _I made a quick turn, catching his jaw in the process, and there was an angry _tsk_ implemented by a scowl. Nevertheless, with no moment to gloat over the hurt I inflicted, a grasp was thrown towards my gut, but I ducked; only to be caught by a knee.

"Not so fast!"

Before I knew it, my back met the cold, cement partition yet again and I found myself pinned. Guess that makes three… but at least I was facing him this round.

"Really, Chris," a low chuckle, "where _do _you get your confidence?" His texture beamed conceit. "I would have thought you'd learned by now."

_Actually, I have… but what else was I supposed to do?_ "I've had it… with your bullshit, Wesker!" An elbow tried to wedge itself into my clavicle, but I managed to deflect it, containing air flow. "If you wanted me dead I'd already be, so what the hell are you waiting for?" I fought against his unyielding strength. "You've got me— where you want me, right?"

"Quite." A black glove cupped my chin, thumb molesting the swelling bruise on my cheek. "But don't worry, you won't be dying by _my_ hand." He smirked, scanning down before flicking up. "Not directly, at least."

_Shit. _Then what happened earlier…

"…_the assignment... I was… given…" Eyes trailed. "— they forced me!" Palms were raised. "—I-I have so much to lose…" Lips trembled. "My family…" Intertwined knuckles bleached white. "Please, allow me one more task— just one more!"_

"_T-This is all your fault!"_

I averted my gaze, brow wrinkling. _My fault... I wondered what he meant. Now I know… _"Adem Ahemt." I glared into limitless egoism. "You used him to get to me."

"Just another Barry."

I snorted in rage.

"Everyone has an Achilles' heel, Chris. You just have to know where to look." He pushed me harder into the concrete structure, and I felt it dip. "But enough chit-chat. I've wasted plenty of time as it is."

He maneuvered an arm beside my ear, bent at the joint.

"I'm going destroy every ounce of your pride," a few strands of hair peeled limply from his gelled mound, "leaving you empty, regretting your own existence, and because you're self-centered you'll suffer, knowing you can't do anything to help yourself."

OK, I know I can be overly persistent sometimes, but egocentric? That definitely wasn't a characteristic of mine. _Think he's got his wires crossed. _"…Are you describing me? Or _you_?"

Another fist. Another _oof_.

Blood trickled from busted skin, and I spat in the middle of a thankful exhale. "Wow. Missed my nose…"

"Well, what else are you supposed to breathe through when I'm preoccupied with your mouth?" Wesker dragged me forward, and I could undeniably recognize antagonistic features, accompanied by—

_Lust— again?_ "What're you gonna do to my mouth?"

Not like I didn't already have an idea…

Or two.

Eyes flashed reflecting exterior conditions, slipped from decimated corners of cracked stone. "There's something about you, Chris, which," narrowing as tone grew bitter, "rubs me the wrong way… but not like before."

_Can't tell if that's good or bad_, but, "Maybe it's because you're finally startin' to realize I'm a worthy opponent."

There was a pause and Wesker tilted his chin, ever so slightly; facade displaying trivial inquiry. But when he noticed me taking an interest, he immediately cancelled its appearance.

And what'dya know. He traded it for that overused, smug-ass grin…

"Look at us. Grown men fighting for dominance, backed solely by our values." He ogled his rippled chest with a pleased glance. "Not to mention levels of masculinity."

Gotta give him credit for having the decency to verbalize our faults, except, "Hey, if you mean muscle mass," I attempted to pivot from the wall, "I'm packin' more than you."

There was a shift in his jowl, admiration soon claiming his forehead. "See? Nothing's changed between us, Chris. Same old heated words of indifference." Tension rippled his neck. "But that's our chemistry. Always has been." His grip tightened, and I could hear skinned leather squeak. "_Always_ will be."

"And…" I maneuvered some fingers into the curve of his astringent palm. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Finish it. _Once and for all_."

_That phrase… _Mine on Rockfort Island… and Wesker's in Africa._ Hah. _At least he didn't get all his ideas from comic book villains…_ Guess I should be flattered._

Although, upon losing contact with vertical reinforcement, my gratitude fell as accessory to the floor beneath, accepting a weighty embrace— one I didn't relatively enjoy— especially when Wesker joined, coat discarded; leaving mere seconds to roll onto my back.

_If that's the way you want it, then, _"Fine by... me!" I threw the first punch, but it was caught and I consecutively tried again.

A failed combo.

Both wrists were now pinned above my shoulders, rendering me vulnerable— a word that didn't really suit— so I tried to make it temporary.

Taking a mouthful of air and groaning loudly, I pushed against Wesker's chest with my own, turning sideways. Probably took him by surprise, because he moved just the way I wanted.

"Impressive." Amused amber examined my form, and I satisfied a scoff.

"…Thanks." _He told me that too… in the office._

Clearing my throat, I readjusted my position on his hips, which probably felt like I was grinding him, but I knew where my head was. As for Wesker—

I could feel his.

He growled, also noting of his arousal, and I couldn't help but smirk, trying best not to mock. _Talk about awkward… _But maybe I could use this to my advantage?

"You liked that?" I leaned down and although my arms were still restrained, managed to embed them on solid earth. Unprotected eyes flickered with interest, seeking to perceive my intentions, and I was hoping he wouldn't discern my nervous lips, but since his mouth curved, I'm pretty sure he did.

Oh well,_ not like he could predict my next move…_

"Then how 'bout this?" His ear was mine for the whisper, as I snatched a handful of pebbles and dirt, siphoning it in his face.

_Gah!_ Wesker released me, wiping above his nose, and I took this opening to scramble to my feet, mustering a step. However, within seconds my leg was grabbed, returning me ground level, and my surprise was drowned by an,

"I don't think so!"

"Stop—"

Pitiful, I know. But as I tore at soil to get away, I figured somewhere, deep down, my old Captain still might be there.

"Just accept your fate!"

_Guess not._ "NO!"

In less than four movements, my arms were preyed upon whilst he hoisted himself onto my rear, painfully rotating a hold singlehandedly, and I could only protest with muffled moans and gasps.

"Thought you could be a tease, eh Chris?"

_Ugh!_ No matter which way I swayed he didn't budge. _…Can't do anything in this position!_

"This is the part… where I _break_ you."

Resentment stung my ears, and with my body portraying immobility, assailed using my remaining defense.

"Great, should I start bucking now?"

Unfortunately, sarcasm was beside him and he positioned a foot, shifting ample weight, enabling the space to lace my spine; running a hand over my backside, ending amid my thighs; roughly groping and kneading.

I hissed in disgust, jaw clenched as I knocked my temple against the floor a few times with a grunt; dirt plastering itself to my skin. "What… the hell? Wesker!"

"Yes, Chris?"

_ Shit! _"We can't—"

"We are."

_Fax machine. Desk. Floor._

_Not again!_ I tried to cast a following glimpse. "Is this your way… of ending it— ending _us_!"

_If there ever was an us…_

His chuckle came ripe as he felt up my side, clawing my hip, and I purred— reluctantly— as a part of me hardened.

_Talk about betrayal…_

"Does it bother you?" His steady murmur burned.

I expressively puffed through my nose, wanting him to come closer, so I could knock the stern of my skull with his bridge… but he played it safe, remaining just out of reach.

_Goddammit! _I twisted, turned, strained up, then purposely flopped, praying that any of these motions would give me the chance I needed to make a comeback.

No luck.

I tried again and again, until I felt like screaming— which was tempting, but what good would that do? _…Besides give Wesker a high._ And to have him laughing manically while continuing was the last wish on my list. However, with subsequent endeavors in vain, slowly but surely, the situation dawned inevitable… till I could deny it no longer.

I was at his mercy.

* * *

_**A/N: If you're still reading here, then you're missing out on six pages of smutty WxC. Jealous? If so, please visit our homepage to find the link to our LiveJournal account for the EXPLICIT version. (However, on LJ, it will be split into a Part 1, and Part 2, because we overstepped the limit off 44,000 characters.)**_

_**Once read, we would very much appreciate it/prefer if reviews were posted here on FanFiction under Chapter 6… but feel free to comment on both sites if you'd like!**_

* * *

My eyes clamped shut, imposing a forearm to fight longing with obscurity. However, serenity was disturbed by creaky leather, lips leaning to stroke mine, but not roughly. And for a while, only dormant air festered, chests struggling to contain sustenance.

_Probably thought I passed out…_ so I secretly focused preparation to my latent fist, planning to present it to a temple, until I heard his tone.

"Chris."

It came as a gentle whisper.

"What have you done to me? …I shouldn't be feeling this way." He paused. "In fact, I shouldn't be feeling at all." And crushing my complaints, casually pulled out, rising to a stand with a zipped fly. "How is it you're the one, constant variable, always managing to complicate my formulas?"

I groaned trying to work around agony, simultaneously hearing a wrist flick in slight hesitation.

"Don't bother answering that." Within a few scuffs, I could clearly identify Wesker retrieving his deserted sunglasses, and the following recess was most likely him inspecting for damage. "I don't know what it is, but when I look at you I can't control my actions."

_Why's he tellin' me this? I'm not a confession booth._ I lifted my arm from the dip of my nose, squinting as he secured the dark plastic in place; reclaiming usual, cocky posture.

"However," slicking loose tresses into obedience, "I'm determined to find out."

The wind from his abrupt departure and mounted coat alerted the hair on my arms, soon followed by fading footsteps.

"So long, old _friend_."

As much as I hated to admit it, insight was never my strong point, especially in comparison to Wesker, but sooner or later I catch on…

Like right now.

"Don't—" I drew in a wheeze, rotating my torso to the floor, but found limitation at my elbows when ascending. "Don't you mean… _old feelings_?"

There was a halt.

Beginning speculation had entrapped the belief that Wesker was out for revenge, and I think until this moment, he did too. But truth was, vengeance died long before reuniting in Guatemala.

Our meeting here was different than those of the past, and had taken a turn for the worst. There would be no more room for games here on in— bickering about who's right or wrong, trying to throw out validating reasons for all actions performed.

No.

It's been decided that someone won't be walking away today and sadly, it seems that I've been the one chosen to shoulder that role. That much was written when Ahmet injected me…

_Dammit._ Wesker's idea of severing ties was _by far_ executed in the crappiest manner possible. Was he under the impression that what we just did would make everything less painful for himself— for me?

"…I hope…" barely managing a glimpse past my bicep, "you're satisfied."

A stale puff and the tail end of a headshake was my only acknowledgement, before he walked out of sight and I lowered my face onto the cement, releasing a held breath and a pounded fist.

"_I hate him."_

_That's what I've kept telling myself… So why is it, that after everything I've been through— everything he's put me through— everything I've tried so hard to erase… That I still—_

_Shit._

_All these years working towards bringing Wesker down, only to fail time and time again— and I don't hold my level of skill responsible… Well, maybe a little… but there was an alternative reason why I couldn't do this… A reason why I didn't want this to happen— why it shouldn't have happened!_

Black enclosed my eyes, and I reluctantly fell victim to its sweet touch.

_How the hell could I still have feelings for that bastard?_

**…**

The constant sound of dripping gradually woke Fawn from darkness and he groggily sat upright, rubbing the back of his swollen cranium as he let his surroundings adjust; quickly realizing that he was in a cell…

And that he wasn't alone.

"J-Joel!" Snapping to his feet, he made way to his comrade hunched in a corner, but slipped on something wet. Water was his first thought, until he looked down—

"Hey!"

The voice came from the chamber across, and it was hard to pull his gaze from the red covering the floor, but when he did he saw—

"Roger… " Glancing back, "Is he… Is he dead?"

There was a soft moan.

"Not yet… I ain't." Joel's complexion stood out as a sickly pastel; one eye's water line split and sagging, lower jaw gashed open showing bone, with crimson bubbling from holes in his vest.

"Shit… Uh— ah, l-let me take a look." Shaking hands reached, but were stopped.

"N-No… It's p-pretty bad." There was a cringe when shying away, and more liquid spilled onto the floor.

But Fawn knew it wasn't blood the minute he heard hissing.

"Damn B.O.W. bit him." Roger leaned against his iron poles, foot tapping to the silent melody of impatience. Unlike the position opposite him, where previous emotions and memories of treachery resurfaced for the younger member, to which no attempt was made to hide anger.

"I'm surprised you didn't ditch him."

"I did… " Arms intertwined. "Well, tried to at least."

"You… bastard!" Winding through clenched incisors, Fawn lunged at the bars; only to be stopped by his own. "How could you! After all this team's been through—"

"Fuck you!" A stone was grabbed and tossed. "Mark's dead because you froze— YOU let him down! How's that for a _team_?"

"G-Guys…"

"That's not fair!" More like a shrill, leaning out from confinements. "_Protect and serve!_" A pointer was raised. "Isn't that our motto? Mark, he…" Shoving weight. "I didn't ask him to save me!"

"H- HEY!" Joel's voice came parched, sputtering past discolored spit. "We're… supposed to be professionals here. Gotta stick… together… Stay focused."

There was a soft "Sorry," drowning an annoyed _tsk_, and for a moment the situation was pondered with half-hearted glares, before Fawn checked his watch.

"Well, it's been more than a few hours since I was separated from Jill and Chris… So hopefully, they've realized something's wrong and are looking—"

Roger scoffed, "Yeah right. I'm not gonna stand around waiting to be rescued."

Palmed raised then dropped. "Then what do you suggest we do?"

"Break outta here ourselves."

Fawn patted his pockets, throwing his gaze to the surrounding ground. "If you haven't noticed, we've been stripped of our weapons."

"True, but whoever put us in here overlooked something." Roger's ravenous eyes traveled to,

"_Joel_… how?" Fawn's view switched between members. "He's wounded!"

"N-No… the acid…" Trying to lean forward. "Nice call…"

"Pretty smart, yeah?" Roger cracked at his neck. "Would've gotten outta here sooner if I was put in the same cell as you, but—" A pair of judgmental gazes made him realize the current situation could use less smug talk, and he cleared his throat. "Forget I said anything…"

"Right… Let's discuss more pressing matters at stake, like: _how_ I'm supposed to transport this stuff without actually _touching _it." Fawn scattered his attention amidst neighboring debris, looking for something that could be used besides his—

"Grow a pair and scoop. Just be sure to use your non-dominant hand, so you can still fire a gun."

"Are you serious?" Fawn's freckles burned darker with rising disappointment at Roger's brash suggestion, and he threw a double glance. "If that's the way it's gotta be, first handful's on you—"

Foreign fingers intertwined his pants.

"M…My… v…est. Use my… vest." Joel slipped a joint under the collar of his gear. "Acid's practically… coatin' it." And exposing his damp undergarments, created suction with a wet _splort_.

"But, what if… it's the only thing holding you together?" Fawn looked to Roger. "Is it—" Ignoring an answering mouth, head back at Joel. "_Is it_?"

"Just… take it… off."

"But—"

"Please…"

"…Al… Alright." Pleading eyes overruled better judgment as Fawn tentatively steadied the material, helping his companion remove the equipment… what was left of it anyways. And the cloth, now pinched at arm's length, was carefully guided around a rod; releasing a hungry hiss and light smoke upon contact.

"Guess I'm still useful… and not just… d-dead weight." Joel tried to smile, but displayed more hurt than joy, and after a few seconds of anticipation half a bar dissolved.

They were one step closer to freedom.

The same process was repeated three or four times, until the gap was wide enough for escape, and after performing its duties, the vest was tossed aside.

Fawn, gently hooking arms with his wounded cellmate, fought dried blood and fluid which attempted to stick him down. "Almost there, Joel. Come on, we can do it."

"Hey— what are you doing?" Roger cussed a few non-audible phrases, while throwing an arm in the direction of the discarded gear. "Your aim sucks! I'm over here!"

Fawn tensed, ignoring muttered hate as he pulled Joel through teethy metal.

"You can't _seriously_ consider leaving me like this!" A pole was kicked. "Who's gonna cover your ass while you're shouldering him, huh?"

Yielding with determination riding his summit, Fawn directed his view into flamed eyes. "A respectable team member, who won't abandon us when the tough gets going. If you can accept that duty…" He stuck a free hand through vertical cylinders for a shake. "I'll let you out."

Whilst diffident vision looked to the extended limb in ponderance, the young recruit knew he was probably being naïve, but couldn't harbor enough hate to even desert someone like Roger. No matter how much of a dictator he was. And when no reply responded to his offer, he stretched further, almost pleading.

"Prove to those whom we've lost…" Tenderly bouncing Joel for a better grip. "And those who are still alive, that you're not the hardhearted prick you let on to be."

**…**

A supple shower was still coming when doors swung open, and Fawn couldn't help but strain.

They were outside.

But it wasn't the facility he had entered with Chris and Jill… More like a rural, storehouse prop, concealing a basement of cells beneath.

"…Let's head back to the boat, so we can establish contact with HQ and ask for back-up." The sky released a small ray of light, soon crushed by depressing clouds. "Didn't get the chance to send a signal from communications when I was with the others."

A groan sounded in conformation from Joel, who now hung limply, almost dragging the ground, and Fawn tried to offer assistance, but found no strength to back consideration. Which wasn't a problem earlier, though because of stairs, he was now worn. In addition, shouldering a body sized twice his own, wasn't a small feat to be lifting by his lonesome.

Although in truth, he wasn't. But it sure did feel that way, particularly since Roger stood shifted, trying to keep the side with acid as far away as possible with an extended hip, and soon a finger.

"Came across a warehouse while trying to escape the B.O.W." The point directed all attention to an ancient, stone temple lingering in the distance. "Had a better view of those remains, so I think we should start there, then make our way back though the village."

"Sounds like a plan." Fawn gave his drowsy teammate a solemn smile, worry fluttering his expression as thunder rolled angrily across the fertile terrain surrounding them. "You ready, Joel?"

A raspy moan was made into a laugh. "I was… born ready, y-ya fool." His skin held a spoiled look with new illumination, one pupil filming blue.

Roger bellowed a bark. "At least he's still got enthusiasm." Giving his comrade's shoulder a tight squeeze, borderlining impassion. "Means he's OK."

If only he knew…

**…**

A figure stirred in the background., obscured by shadows of towering foliage whilst the B.S.A.A. trio began en route towards their discussed objective. Sheet lightning glinting off hollow, bio-glass lenses.

"It's me…" A finger was pressed to an ear, fixing the hidden com. "What do you mean who? Docks, you dumbass." An unsure pause. "Whatever…" He peeled some vines back, keeping his targets in view. "The rats are heading towards _Plumed Serpent_." A cackle, ending with a hack. "…I'll… I'll cut them off. Meet me at the checkpoint."

**…**

_Tap…_

_June 24, 1998, 18:32 p.m._

_Tap, tap…_

_I remember finishing up evening reports when Wesker walked in; wearing a clean, blue shirt, half buttoned with a towel around neck. His hair was damp and freshly gelled, the stubbles from that morning gone._

_Little words were exchanged when I finally made to leave, innocence on my mind. But that was soon tainted when he grabbed me, and rogue touching, groping and kissing began at the fax machine…_

_Tap, tap, tap…_

_With the desk as our next destination, he propped me up, pulling legs tightly around his waist as he pushed himself closer. His cologne, a popular scent, turned sour when worn… It was so pungent— almost addicting— that I found myself licking his jaw line, and tasting his lips; cheek bones firmly clasped between my palms._

_I couldn't get enough of that old spice, especially when impatient, yet pleased grunts edged me on… There was barely a pause when I removed his upper cloth and him mine. _

_We were inseparable._

_Bare and heated chests knocking, mouths continuously sucking, and it wasn't until a few seconds later that we fell to the floor with a—_

_Tap, tap, tap, tap…_

—_what the hell. …Footsteps? I don't remember those..._

It took a while for radiance to reclaim my blotchy vision, unlike my ears; which were all I could rely on until imagery reset, and I distinctly caught the echo of a door shutting— or opening— somewhere close in proximity. And that was more than enough to get me motivated into motion.

…_Come on, Chirs. Pull yourself together. _Through a cough, I agitated some of the established dust from my hair with a small shake and strained a grunt; tediously striving to lift myself from the unpleasantly cold base, getting further than my preceding endeavors: but still restricted to a crouch. I typically blamed my screaming body, but then again, the twisted fabric around my thighs were also at fault.

Hanging my head, I took a swift breather— inhaling one, two— before closing my eyes and managed to scrounge enough weight for a crooked stand as I redressed my lower quarters with a stiff reach; fastening the strap with a barely administered tug.

_Great…_ I didn't have a watch, so there was no telling how long I'd been out. But since my fluid had dried to the point of flaking, I could only guess as I brushed at it briskly. _Fifteen minutes? Thirty? Maybe longer?_

I attempted a hobbled step, but found myself curling back to the ground; inner clock blaring an hour, which— when compared to a weeks' worth of recovery— held little comfort.

But in time I would mend. Physically, anyways.

Mentally… I'm not so sure.

_In the end, I couldn't resist him_… but even so, I wasn't just going to lie down like some dog and howl. I'm not that type of person…

Sucking at oxygen, I re-hoisted myself upright with the wall as immediate support; my mind possessing the sole concern of bringing down my villainous ex-captain. It was here, and now— now or never. And I didn't want to think about never… more about how…

_So lemme get my facts straight…_

And leaning against the exit's frame, I collected thoughts:

_Albert Wesker… He's obviously more dangerous than before, and approaching him like this again probably won't work… Better start thinking of some new tactics…_

_Then there's me… By this point there's no denying I'm infected with the C-virus. Though the label, "W/C3BJ-06," that formerly stumped, now leads me to believe it's a modified version of the parasite— which is worrisome, because I have no indication of what side effects to expect. After all, I didn't experience convulsions upon injection, as a previous journal entry stated…_

_But let's not forget about the mission— which has completely gone to hell… but I can't abandon it in its current state because I was given a job to do, and I'm gonna see it through: regardless._

I started forward, one leg at a time, attended by dizziness plaguing my sight, but refused to succumb. With priorities imperative, _I'll have to think of a way to save myself later…_

Venturing forth, slow not by choice, I hushed the pain of each stride through grit teeth. Through after crossing five rooms and three hallways, found myself no longer relying on props as a crutch. Which was relieving since surrounding walls now stood as bare skeletons, area holding limited and questionable choices; but a decision had to be made.

_Which way should I go?_

Straight, right or left. All possibly leading to the upper floor, maybe lower… Or they could send me through alternative arcs in a circle, resulting a dead end; and I didn't have the time for that, let alone patience.

Groping at straws, as well as my knees, I chose to advance the path ahead, and made an attempt to follow through with judgment, only to be distracted elsewhere.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap…_

_Footsteps again_— I turned, catching a shadow flicker down one side stretch. "Hey—" and immediately changed course, mustering a jog, but the silhouette quickly fled; disappearing into a room shrouded by dark drapes.

Events felt like I was chasing a ghost… And come to think of it, I hadn't seen anyone since losing contact with Jill.

No employees… Infectees… B.O.W.s… Saunders?

Either this facility was well protected, or I'm just lucky… And I wouldn't agree with the latter because previous missions were always condemned with danger. But better not jinx it.

Shaking my head I pushed at curtains, exposing space beyond, and a small body met my gaze; sprawled on the floor under a tiny basement window. However, it was too undersized to be human, and it wasn't until looming, that I realized it was a ragdoll… No mold or decay visible.

_Hasn't been here long… _Groaning, I reached down and whilst turning the toy in my grasp, my senses were immediately attacked by spice; the kind you'd find in a thriving marketplace. My nose cringed, and I felt slightly queasy, though it was, _Nothin' I can't handle._

And I was prepared to discard the collage of fabric before a tag caught my interest, sticking out under yellow thread, which I think was meant to be hair— and started digging amid a rise. _Might have a name, or somethin'…_

However, without warning my hands were seized, forced lower by smaller ones, and I let my imagination get the better of me, unintentionally letting go. _What the—_

There was a frightened peep.

I recoiled in a shuffled gaze, doll hovering where I previously stood, until bit by bit, it floated towards the ground revealing wide, sapphire orbs, complimented by brown locks; complexion pale as butter, skin slightly moistened.

_A girl?_ I was quick to surrender. "It's OK."

Her posture was inflexible, fear evident. "Who are you?" Perfect English; barely above a whisper.

"Chris Redfield." I knelt and felt bile rise, but willed it back, outstretching a palm. "But you can… call me Chris…" I swallowed hard. "What's your name?"

"Aunya… Aunya Gepfner." She clutched her play-mate tighter.

…_Gepfner? Could she be… _I leaned out. "Are you hurt? Where are your parents—"

"Right here." I glanced up, noticing a gold-toothed sneer and gun descending concealed stairs on the far wall. "Get away from her."

He motioned for me to withdraw, and I did.

"Daddy…"

_Fancy that… _"Executive Director Sylon Gepfner, I take it?" I straightened my knees. "Or would you prefer Aristov? 'Cause I don't think he'd mind, being dead and all."

There was disdainful stare, prior to switching kind focus to his daughter. "Aunya." He hid his armed hand. "Come."

I opened my mouth to intervene, but Gepfner stopped me with a raised palm.

"_Bruchett_." His tone was chipper. "Papa is going to have adult conversation with this man. Would you mind covering ears?"

Timidly she drew further, until obediently by his side; looking between us as she complied.

_Such a young age… Can't possibly comprehend what's going on._

I tried offering her a sympathetic smile, and to my surprise, she returned it warily; Gepfner narrowing his brow following her gaze, and she was hushed out of the way.

"Your eyes too." The firearm resurfaced and my fingers instinctively fell to my belt, grasping at an empty holster.

I clicked my tongue_. Forgot Wesker still had my Beretta…_

"How much does B.S.A.A. know about Alkagen's involvement?"

His vagueness of the subject temporarily caught me off guard, but I managed to convert perplexity to discernment; after all, _I should be the one asking questions_. "Involvement with what? Better yet whom— actually; I think I know— so how about we skip to _Project-C_?"

However, the released safety told me he didn't appreciate my deflective queries, and he firmly pressed Aunya to his hip, who peeked from behind her hands. "How much have you learned about that?"

With his daughter here, I was pretty convinced he wasn't going to shoot any time soon, but couldn't take the risk, so, _looks like I'll have to cooperate for now…_ "…Whatever was in the journals."

His expression lightened briefly. "…Then you understand reasons for conducting such experiments?"

"No."

"…No?"

_Could that part have been detailed in the missing volume— which one was it? Five?_ "So care to… fill me in?"

"Mhm. Is this some petty B.S.A.A. tactic to mislead me, in order to learn more than you already do?" He scanned without a sound, and I didn't give him any reason of mistrust, despite his guess being dead on… but I was pretty good at hiding denial.

Minutes stretched at a snail's pace, eye-contact unwavering, before Gepfner reapplied the gun's catch. "Fredek, he didn't have to die you know." Tone dropped as did the waving revolver. "But his fate was sealed when he chose to be a mole…" Shaking his head. "Such a great man, so full of knowledge… Wasted because of greed."

_Wow, did he really think that excuse justified Aristov's murder?_ "Have any proof before you… shot him?"

"Not enough evidence, no. But I wasn't the one who pulled trigger."

And now he's shuffling blame._ Reminds me of someone I know_, which kinda made me sick…

Literally.

The nausea from before was gradually seeping back to noticeability, worsening with each inhalation."Did you at least… find out who he was… w-working for? Tricell—" I awkwardly groped my abdomen, an unpleasant taste soon invading my mouth. _Perfect._ Vigilant fingers traced my center, shortly discovering a knot; tight, but tender to the touch. _Must be a bruise… _Most likely covered with 'em. In and out._ Damn. _A flinch. _Should have taken it slower… _

"No." Gepfner presented a shoulder, focus not all there. "Tricell has been permanently put out of commission, thanks to you and your _partner_ at time." He exhaled deeply. "Regrettably, I still do not know who buyer was. List was… too big."

"Ever think about asking… b-before condemning—" I arched forward, clutching my thighs. _Might not be able to hold it back this time…_

"It did cross my mind, _after_ he was dead… of course…" There was a pause, and I heard him lower his guard. "What are you doing? Straighten up."

_Would if I could…_

There was a dawdling _ah_. "You're already infected? I didn't think he would set plans into motion this soon… Looks like I was wrong." He began to circle at a distance. "Though it appears your body may be rejecting virus…"

_Does that mean I might have a chance at survival? _The corner of my mouth twitched, defecting a smile. "Too bad… for Wesker." Trying not to sound overly hopeful, but optimism quickly turned absent when I saw Aunya scurry out of the room, fears automatically switching from death by parasite to annihilation by bullet. And can't say I didn't feel guilty for thinking it, but _that girl was Gepfner's leash_… so to speak, and confirmation was mine when tone changed.

"You know, I heard you two were like magnets, always drawn to each other's pull." There was a chuckle. "I suppose I should be showing you gratitude… If it wasn't for you, this project would have been buried long before it began…" He gave the gun another gesture. "A deal was made, you see."

"What are you… talking about? …What deal?"

"All I had to do was to provide him Alkagen's resources and services to lure you B.S.A.A. here. In exchange, I get cure for little princeza—"

"_Cure?_ This _C-virus_ wiped out a single village overnight— what makes you think it'll save anything?"

"Sometimes casualties are necessary in order to perfect that which could save hundreds— no, _millions_!" Arms were poised wide.

"And how many more people will have to die for you to achieve this?" Anger overruled sickness. "Does the population on Guatemala have to be wiped clean before you realize what you're doing will never work? You're playing God—"

"I'm just assisting him." Steps drew closer. "Tell me, _Chris_… Do you have children?"

"No."

"Then you wouldn't understand." Posture morphing rigid. "Having to watch ones you love taken from you, it," patting over his heart, "does things to people."

"Spare me the soap opera!" I huffed an eye roll, mind spinning with irritation. "I don't know if you haven't noticed, or are just turning a blind eye, but Wesker doesn't share your views."

"Who are you to judge others?" Gepfner moved to hover before me, probably under the impression that I was no longer a threat, but the mistake was on him—

because I could now do this.

Straightening with a held breath, I struck; disarming in two motions, and without delay hands went up in nostalgic surrender when I released the safety.

_Guess this is where I start getting answers. _"What are Wesker's plans for the virus— how is he going to spread it? Same as Africa?"

It was my turn to circle at best, and in a moment's study I caught an unaware twitch.

_Shit. He doesn't know. _Disappointment constricted my throat. "How about when? Today? Tomorrow— Next week?"

Palms were dropped with a heavy sigh. "So many questions, and you're not even asking right one." Gepfner reached inside his suit pocket, freezing when I focused aim, but slowly brought out glasses.

"What do you mean?"

"_Please_, Chris. You can't tell me you aren't least bit curious," chocolate orbs grew hazy from applied lenses, "about what's in store… for _you_."

_Heh. _Did he save that line as a trump card, or think of it on the spot? Because either way he had me, and teething my bottom lip, I tried to pit desperation. It's not like his offer wasn't tempting, but I assumed the price of this information wasn't going to come cheap, and I couldn't take the risk of allowing his freedom.

"Thanks for your concern… but I'll ask Wesker myself." I advanced, finger confidently on the trigger. "When you take me to him, that is."

He smirked, thumbing the staircase behind. "Maybe another time, mhm?"

_Clunk._

Almost as if on signal, a canister was thrown to the floor between us, smoke tailing with a loud _psh_, and I jumped.

_Where the hell did that come from?_ Glancing around, I tried to locate the position of discharge— but fumes had already grown chest level, and I shielded below my nose, trying to prevent further mist from entering my lungs. I expected Gepfner to do the same, but instead, saw him run for the stairs.

_Dammit! _I aimed the gun, coughing. "Wait—" Attempting to pursue, I was caught off guard by a fist breaching the white haze to my left; inches from my temple, and I staggered back inhaling with blind surprise. "Shit!"

"_Boss!"_

With vision blurring, and strength weakening, I only managed a brief glimpse at my retreating target, as well as attacker, whose biohazard suit was barely visible through the full-blown smog, unlike his teal gloves.

I felt darkness claiming me once again, and groaned; knees hitting the floor first.

_Oh, come on. I just woke up… _

**…**

14:30 p.m.

_Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep—_

"Shoot!" Jill calmed the alarm on her watch.

With unknown territory stretching ahead, she had to take it slow and acknowledge every possible disturbance, not wanting to gather the attention of any unwanted guests. And through progression, the hallway she was now exploring grew damper and moldier, until a rusty door at the end haltered her strides. Bottom sealed, giving no insight as to what was on the other side.

_Storage? A generator room? Maybe a stairwell—_ Hands were cautiously placed on the chipped frame. "It's warm." And inelegantly pressing her ear, she listened; there was a dreary drizzle… with an occasional _chirp_.

Anticipation flooded her mind as she pushed against it, and it opened with a surprisingly easy _creak_.

Now outside, a glimpse was thrown to the hovering skies above, which were threatening to release grumbling wrath, but the grey, wet atmosphere was a pleasant change of scenery— anything besides those neutral, grimy walls— and following the unkempt stones of a semi-covered path, a withering greenhouse soon sat before her; consumed by vines and broken glass. But among the smothering undergrowth and debris were assembled clusters of flowers with colorless petals, pink sepals, and labellums of similar shade.

"White Nun… or at least a hybrid of it."

Jill snapped her gaze to the voice, and saw the husky man from earlier, who had previously mistaken her as part of the cleaning crew...

The one who killed Ahemt.

He was situated at a plastic table, back facing, with two mannequins opposing, and a sip of tea was taken; lifted from an artisan, handcrafted saucer set pre-assembled before his guests.

"It's part of the orchid genus, _Lycaste_." He didn't look at her. "Beautiful. All thanks to you, and the passion you have for your work." A slow turn exposed distant, azure eyes complimented by newly mounted, silver-rimmed glasses. "Care to join me?" His hair was now combed neatly and parted, almost normal, aside from the still-worn biohazard suit.

Jill peered around, looking for justification to protest.

"Please." He kicked out a chair, causing one of the human-sized dolls to topple over. "Sit." Motioning with his hand, but when Jill made no attempt to comply, he clenched it shut. "Such dedication you have, but I assure you, the flowers aren't going anywhere."

Focusing anyplace, but where he pointed, Jill spotted agricultural supplies lying on the ground. _This man… I… I think he… that I'm a… _She inhaled. _One way to find out. _And displaying a smile the best she could, cocked her gun behind her back. "Have we met before?"

There was a hard stare as he fixed his spectacles. "Hm, I can't say for sure." Motioning to the vicinity. "This is my first time at the conservatory, you see." Orbs jumped. "Oh, my. Am I… imposing on your gardening?"

Before Jill could start formulating a defense, a gunshot violated the air, echoing from somewhere nearby and she almost dropped face, as well as her weapon. _That sound… Could it be, Chris—_ a spin was attempted until distracted by the ruffling of cloth, and she hurriedly froze.

The man in the biohazard suit was now standing. Dazed, tea cup down.

_Something's wrong… his persona… it's different._

"That…" he cleared his throat, "**didn't sou**nd good." The concern on Jill's features matched his own, but for diverse reasons.

_I should probably get away from him._ "S-Stay here…" She rushed towards the opposite entrance, hoping to gather distance. "I'll go check it out."

"**I don't** **thi**nk so…"

Without warning, warped knuckles gripped her shoulder tightly, and she stumbled, shaking free. _This man… he's faster than he looks. _"What are you—"

"What kind of gentleman would I be to let a lady rush off into possible danger?" He stepped past her. "Defenseless, no less."

"Um…" She folded a palm over her handgun, ensuring its concealment. Couldn't take the risk with him being this close, and although his manner was back to normal, it didn't stop her growing paranoia. "That's very kind of you, but—"

"No buts." An arm was pulled with a gentle tug— one that wouldn't even hurt a fly— as he made to depart. "Posthaste. Someone could be hurt."

** …**

The search didn't take long; ending in less than ten minutes, before Jill successfully identified the room from where the shot was discharged. And once heavy hangings parted, her vision fell to the body on the ground, forwarding a dart—

"NO!"

"Oh dear," practically on her heels, following suit, "is he all right?"

Sliding to the floor with all attention on Chris, Jill rolled her partner face up, examining for wounds. To her relief, when greeted by his front, there were none visible, and she sighed, prior to eyeing the unfamiliar gun in his hand. _What happened here, Chris—_

An eerie melody suddenly riddled from behind, causing her to flinch.

It was a phone, which was answered by her accompaniment, face presented elsewhere with a smiling tone. "Bronz McKiddle. …Ah, who is this? …Oh, right! Hello, good to hear your voice." There was a stagnant pause. "…I see. I'll be there when I can. Just have to pop over to _Ward B_ first..." He pocketed the mobile.

Jill tensed. _Ward B?_

"I'm… sorry, I have to go… Something's come up." He began to depart, only to halt momentarily. "By the way," he returned his gaze, but not fully, "watch out for the B.S.A.A., I heard they're getting close." His voice trailed as he left. "Wouldn't want civilians getting caught in the crossfire."

And just like that he was gone.

**…**

"…_Chris? … Chris?"_

I felt soft fingers stirring me, and instantaneously sat with a jolt; hearing a comforted breath of,

"Thank goodness."

"…Jill?" Not like I wasn't glad to see her, but, "Where's Gepfner?" I was on my feet within seconds, before doubling, hands on thighs.

"Gepfner? You met him?" She was at my side, cupping a shoulder.

"We both did." Through a groan. "Except he called himself Fredek Aristov."

"What?" She tried to read my face, despite my hunch. "Is he the one behind all of this?"

"Not exactly…"

Looks like her investigation wasn't as eventful as mine, so _guess I need to fill her in on what's what_; opting some major details of course.

"The Director… he's just a pawn." I straightened out best I could. "The real mastermind controlling this operation is…" I struggled to get my tongue around sufficient words, wanting to spew harsh and ugly terms, but went with a simple, "Wesker." And thankfully that summed the whole ordeal.

We exchanged stares with expressions displaying regret, and neither of us could speak until eye-contact was broken. _Hearing this probably opened up old wounds for her too…_

"How—" She laughed, shaking her head. "Nevermind. Stupid question…"

Probably was, but I found myself juggling which of the two inquires she meant: _"How do you know?"_ or, _"How is he still alive?"_ …But I'm gonna go with the conclusion.

I strained a grin, trying to improve her vexed appearance. _We could probably do with a change of subject… _So let's revert back to earlier events."Ahmet," I cleared my throat, "did you manage to find him?" However, my attempt to brighten the atmosphere significantly backfired, channeling her concern into shame.

"Yeah," she turned away, straying a pace, "but he's dead."

"What?" My first beliefs immediately turned dull, assuming she killed him as payback for injecting me. But I knew her to be better than that, especially since he might have been able to provide an antidote for the parasite… but maybe those are my thoughts on how I would have handled the situation.

"By the time I got to him, he'd already been ripped apart."

_See? Worryin' for nothin'._ But now another question ate away at me… Was she even aware that the syringe I was injected with _contained_ the C-virus? Or did she just assume it was common anesthetic…

We locked eyes, and I had my answer via hesitant reserve and twitching nerves; indicating subtle caution.

_Can't blame her._ She had a right to be frightened, but if Gepfner was correct about my body rejecting the virus, I still had a chance. Although, I'd understand if, "Jill, you don't have to do this. You can still back out now."

"No." Her ponytail flicked in disagreement. "Chris—"

"I don't want to hurt you." And it's not like I was trying to intimidate her, but, "Who knows how long I have before things go south."

"I don't care."

Feminine fingers smoothly slid over a bicep, and although it was an act of kindness, I found myself pitting a cringe.

"I'm not leaving you."

I shifted weight, releasing a sigh. Kinda figured that'd be her resolve. After all, if the situation was reversed I'd be doing the same, so I settled for nothing less than a smile. "…Thanks."

"What are partners for?" She withdrew giving a pat. "Now, let's go check out Ward B."

"Why? What's there?"

"Hopefully a man," readjusting her cap, "who can give us some answers."

** …**

With my head pounding a ridiculous beat, I tried not to dwell on the fact that movement was slowly becoming a chore and gave it my all, not wanting to slow Jill down. But I didn't have to bear the mental hassle for long, because we soon paused for a moments worth of peace… Though it could have been under less annoying circumstances.

A locked, metal platform sat idly before us presided by a womanly, electronic voice demanding every sixty seconds that we,

"_**Please swipe your access maintenance card.**__"_

_Damn_. You'd think every admission tag would hold the same authority, but no; one key does _not_ open all, as we were now witnessing with Gepfner's.

_Pff. Would've been willing to take the stairs, if they weren't blocked by the collapsed upper floor._ "Tell me you can override this thing."

Jill knelt. "I don't know…" And pulling out her lock pick, undid the screws of the control box, exposing a handful of colorful wires. "Doesn't appear to be server based, so I think I can bypass from here." She separated two strands, uncapping the tips. "Give me a minute… Haven't done this in a few years."

"Take your time." I led a palm to rest on my hip, balancing the tension of both legs, before progressing into a wall, and slipping fingers caught the tail end of that rigid welt from earlier; stopping to hover attentively. _Swelling hasn't gone down_; unlike the one on my cheek, which was now almost invisible, contrasting those of memories and I groaned.

"Chris, you OK?"

I looked up to see paused handiwork.

"I'm fine, Jill." Although I'm sure my reply came a little too quick for certification, but, "Don't worry about me."

** …**

Against surrounding ambience, the soft focus of a neighboring camera went unnoticed, leisurely recording— in real-time— the activity below; sending all feed to the control room, at which Wesker occupied, musing smugly.

"Together again. As I knew you'd be." He pressed a series of buttons on the dashboard in front, switching regular projection to a thermographic one as he seated himself. "Now, what have you been up to?"

A digital infrared thermal representation of Jill projected back, all vital signs and temperatures normal. Chris, on the other hand, displayed an abnormality, elevated readings in and around the abdomen; an irritated red.

"Excellent." There was a pleased smirk, exposing teeth. "My plan is beginning to bear fruit." A switch was toggled, applying an internal view via ultrasound imaging— installed for the sole purpose of detecting hosts— and zooming closer, checked the progress of the virus.

Wesker knew the outline being examined was still evolving, but in its current state held a bulb-like cranium, a small arched body with an extended tubular strand… and were those two lower appendages legs?

"What." His tone came flat. And amplifying resolution, his lips soon twisted in aversion. "Screen must be malfunctioning…" He tapped the side, but nothing restored. "No matter."

Switching focus, he tried again on a row of five.

Same representation.

With a huff of dissatisfaction, a string of code was typed, commanding every computer available to life; hoping to challenge the previous resolve, and after a one-hundred and eighty degree turn on wheels and constant observation, realization clicked.

"Oh… shit."

The form nested inside Chris wasn't a parasite… or a B.O.W.

Not even close.

"No… NO!"

Wesker stood, chair toppling to the floor, drained hands firmly gripping the counter's edge as he sharply drew his eyes away with a growl.

"…How is this possible?"

* * *

**Extra Note(s):**

We sincerely apologize for opting the S3X scene… It killed us, really it did, but we didn't want the story banned for containing MA+ content… (Though we've seen harder terminology used, but meh.)

Having to censor this version really put a dent in our relationship with FanFiction, and we can already tell that structuring future chapters similar to this one is going to be a hassle. Oy…

However, Gloom aside— back to your Pokéball! lololololol

Thank you: Merci: Arigatō gozaimasu: Xiè xie: Gracias: _Danke schön_:

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**and Ryuze (Guest)**

for reviewing the last chapter! You've all been so supportive!

And like always, to those just browsing fanfiction, _please_ don't be frightened to post a review! We'd really love to read your thoughts!

P.S. And a big Pudsey bear hug to:

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for replying to the post regarding the events befalling Chapter 6. At least we knew you laddies or lassies were aware of our plans. Thank you!


	7. Chapter 7: Fragile: Do Not Break

**Disclaimer:** We do NOT own Resident Evil or its characters. (The rights belong to CAPCOM & MIKAMI Shinji.) But we DO own the plot for this fan fiction, and the OCs.

**Warning: **Violence, Cursing, Male/Male relationship, Mpreg

_Italics_ - Emphasized words/Thoughts/Flashbacks/Onomatopoeia(s)

**Bold** – Electronic voice (female)/ Subject B/ B.O.W.

**A/N:** Nine pages were already done before March, eighteen pages written during spring break, and the rest…well, scattered throughout the weeks. Bloody school system's gone to hell… not enough breathing time for personal agendas. But on a brighter note, HOLY SHIZZ—forty f**king pages? Wow, we're frightened to see what the next submission holds…

Anyways, wanted to send out a special "thanks" to Akemi (Guest) & Devil Woman 24. We read your reviews, and just had to finish this ASAP! Cheers, dear hearts!

* * *

_I was careless…_

_Allowin' myself to fall for some red herring, only to get infected by a virus that I've spent my entire life tryin' to destroy._

_Talk about paradox… but I was done chasin' ghosts._

_All my concerns were now set towards this new corporation— Alkagen— who was partnered with a man hell bent on destroyin' all humanity. And I don't care about Gepfner's reasons; nothin' can justify mindless slaughter…_

_You don't sleep with the devil and expect him to keep his promises. After all…_

_I should know._

**…**

Confusion. Hatred. Recognition. Incompetence. Self-doubt.

Emotions transcribed between daunt and disconcert forced the hair backing Wesker's neck to crawl, as if neighboring voltage was suddenly amped on full. This surprising turn of affairs was caught winnowing mixed feelings; feelings unrecognized by a man who had dismissed all sentiment years ago; underrating the trade as minimal in exchange for immense power. And his visage originated with a glower; brow wrinkling frustration as he confirmed his stand. Feet dragging ever so slowly to equal footing.

This wouldn't do.

Especially since he had disallowed himself the opportunity to formulate backing endorsement, not learning from error in Africa; which he now considered imprudent, seeing as the events of today were now impersonating the wrongs that befell him those six months ago— nothing foremost as that fateful evening— but preparation changing none-the-less… and he couldn't resist the insistent nag of reassessing the recording, flicking back and forth from regular view to ultrasound.

One, two. One, two. One…

The succeeding frame was left frozen with a hard _tap_.

That unsettling image… It's not like he expected it to change— ok, perhaps he did, even though he comprehended the chemistry of the human body, and very well understood how homo sapiens procreated. But in any case, this situation was still…

"Impossible."

He glanced down at his opened palm and although it was concealed beneath leather once again, eloquently held the lingering sensation of Chris; the ripples and dents of that temperate chest, hardened yet sensitive nipples, and that—

There was an agitated glare, prior to stripping off the dark, worn cloth; invisible, yet suspicious textures rubbed broodingly between thumb and forefinger.

"…Scar."

"_Actually... I considered it… a trophy."_

He hissed through pressed teeth, recalling those strenuous breaths… Oh, how they excited his ears…

"…_Worth nothin' now that I know you're alive."_

However, thrill was swiftly overruled with each passing moment as downcast orbs scanned the crevices of his hand in a subjugated manner, searching for an answer to his unspoken question of where—

"_Now, Sheva, shoot him!"_

"_I can't without hitting you!"_

"_Then— "_

How could he forget the pulling of those determined grasps trying best to expose his glowing weakness through the Uroboros, despite shakes and protests.

So strong, yet soft.

"—_shoot through me!"_

Wesker's wounded growl carried back to the current situation, and without a second's pause clenched his glove tightly with an acrimonious utter of, "_Chris_," before aggressively chucking it against the surrounding cement.

How could this happen?

The virus coursing through his blackened veins was manufactured on specifics, predominantly his DNA; which that _aged, Machiavellian mortal_ procured through unwarranted means; means that subsequently lead to death… and an unsettling hush shadowed the unexpected thought of that decrepit fool, sending resentment for a spin; sidetracking on a whole new branch of offense.

Oswell E. Spencer.

That man, once deemed lord in younger years, had taken advantage of his special— no, superior blood type— in addition to intruding on his friendship with Birkin, merely classifying their involvement as a residential weakness; an open door to test his prototype, one predating that of the T-virus… And even today, Wesker still didn't know whether to express gratitude to William for endowing him the foothold to where he now stood, or hold opposition that he was merely a sightless puppet on strings; and prospect squabbled when nostalgically recalling the fester of excitement when first handling the injection that would change his life.

"Progenitor..."

A slow drag of oxygen readjusted the levels of rising tartness, as Wesker cast an additional review at the underside of his bare knuckles.

Assuming the stab Chris endured during their elapsed segregation was the starting point of this diminutive, underrated slip-up, and this particular strand of data was transmitted subsequently, then after such an exposure— over time— a resistance would have been built, opposing the overture of later introduction; more specifically… this most recent experiment.

The C-virus.

To think, this fresh strain of infection, one that involved his projen-v as the key ingredient, could be thwarted by such a negligible, unseen factor, and Wesker begrudgingly pinched the bridge of his nose. With all gathered niceties developing a clearer image, reality wasn't far from apprehension; and the corner of his mouth reared, debarring teeth.

"Neutralized… then replaced."

And he wasn't one to question his own work, but did temporarily ponder the speed at which the form was growing. However, perhaps it was as obvious as highlighted specifics in documentation— the parasitic genome simply following the schedule of the altered code.

_Hrn. At least one factor stayed the same_, and gradually the idea of supremacy during his former trial seemed… incongruous.

Did he really have to resort to such corporeal torture just to send Chris through bitter remembrance? Sure, it seemed plausible at the time; especially since he couldn't think of any other way to hurt someone who was already deeply broken, but with developments concluding on such a turnout… everything appeared for naught.

Why was it that the world would still feel the wrath of Albert Wesker and unitedly wither in fear, but this man— Chris Redfield, a soldier dedicated to fight against the damage of bio-terrorism— was the sole person capable of corrupting such an uncomplicated arrangement and would once again escape from devastation unscathed?

Well, not entirely.

Incensed eyes narrowed, contemplating the effects of what was to come and unwanted feelings were pitted, mood hot and bothered when the restive urge to take Chris flawed senses, but through a belligerent bellow, Wesker quelled his inner struggle. He was beginning to grow weary of this crusade—torn between infatuation and carnage—when all he hoped for was liberation from this game of cat and mouse and a potent hum passed tight lips.

The echelon of alteration separating this situation from the original was incomparable and such an extensive gap was personalized as foul play in Wesker's campaign; especially when they superseded those of older descent.

_June 25, 1998, 5:49 a.m._

_The first time he had exposed his icy detachment from the world was in that underground laboratory; his renowned character set when Chris' pants—joined by an insignificant other—drew closer from behind. _

"_Wesker!"_

_That voice… Definitely not as empowering as the one he knew now, but at that time he could hear it developing, and the idle gossip from the air force of Chris' spicy temperament was slowly perceptible, but he needed more people like him… No doubt this chap would turn out to be a strong hero, one mankind could depend on._

_If he survived, that is…_

"_So… you've come…" Wesker left a weighty pause while assembling boldness to face the one he had grown most fond of; an operative too keen for his own good, whom he constantly had to belittle and motivate with callous words, but deride aside…"Chris, you make me proud…" And a subtle wave of shame began to encroach his chest, but thinking quickly, he found a way resolve this sensation. "Of course, you are one of _my_ men._

_Pft. "Thanks."_

_And Wesker slowly curved. Apparently, appearing gluttonous for recognition fell through the cracks and advancing to the next stage, revealed his firearm, and the gasp Chris released was absolutely charming, though it was too late to turn tail now… He couldn't lose sight of his main purpose— the one he had had from the beginning, when he created S.T.A.R.S…._

"_Since when, Wesker?"_

"_I'm afraid I don't know _what_ you're talking about."Denial wasn't hard to parade; after all, this was the real him. How he'd grown soft over the years…_

"_Since when have they been slipping you a paycheck!"_

_The rising anger in Chris' tone smoldered the atmosphere as Wesker removed his concern from the computer's dashboard, gun now proposed to blast a hole through his best man's brains._

_Though he wasn't ready to use it…_

_Not yet._

"_I think you're a bit confused…" And he could no longer quell his implicit nature which slipped with elaboration. "I've always been with Umbrella… and S.T.A.R.S. were Umbrella's— No. Rather _my_ little piggies…"_

_There was a discouraging hush, and Wesker knew his words hurt, but what was said couldn't be undone and with a turned shoulder, related his true objective. "The Tyrant virus leaked, polluting this whole place, and unfortunately, I had to give up my lovely members of S.T.A.R.S…" Although only one associate attracted him the most and it was going to be a shame to lose such a valuable asset; but this had to be done, for the sake of his mission._

_And in succession, a dejected, shaky digit was raised in a point, reverberating resentment; elaborating with a, "You… killed them— with your own dirty hands!" which was amusing to watch, especially when he could see the brunette working around other words, and was surprised with just a, "You son-of-a-bitch!"_

_But humor quickly dried when an abrupt interjection of, "No," followed in a snivel; initially thought to have come from Chris, but immediate realization classified it as too feminine and passive to be male; which was when Wesker remembered…_

'_That's right, she's still here.'_

_That meek, little girl beside Redfield had always bothered him in some way, but he couldn't put a finger on it. Every time she spoke it was difficult to restrain rolling eyes, though when he did end up giving in no one could notice because of his tinted trademark._

"_Oh yes, dear." Words intended for Chris, but worked equally with the situation. "Just like this." And he shot Chambers with no remorse._

"_Rebecca!"_

_Ah, good ol' Chris. Albert never could understand that man's outlooks, always fluxing like a wave… but to show concern for some pathetic weakling like her—_

"_Don't move!" All focus was meant to be on him. Only him: the captain, and practical demands were met when brazen eyes turned to stay._

_Yes, he had to have his subordinate's full attention; after all, this next part was for him. "I don't think you want to die, just yet… I have something that's of some interest to you." And with no hesitation his fingers strategically moved about the keys, initiating a command to release T-002._

_This was the moment of truth, spotlight emphasizing the road to victory; hovering on the reanimating monster stationed in the closest capsule— heart beating faster and stronger as the water began to drain._

'_This is it… My savior,' was his mental mantra. "The ultimate life form… Tyrant." And with a shrouded smile suspended, deep down Wesker believed Chris would share views on this artificially created organism, but when a laugh of mockery reached his ears, nerves stood on end._

"_Wesker, you've become senile!"_

_Well, that wasn't really the retort he'd planned on hearing—more specifically— wanted to hear, and loathed feelings overrode adore._

"_Chris, you'll never understand…" Why couldn't he? What wasn't he seeing? "It's magnificent!"_

_Arms were raised to the monster, which didn't particularity enjoy being woken from its slumber only to be displayed like some trophy, as Wesker experienced with anticipation of a stab through the gut. And through the following darkness, did vaguely remember Chris utter his name in shock before fully losing consciousness against the harsh ground._

Oh yes, the incident with the Tyrant was quite inopportune, but _this_…

Sour focus was drawn from multiple displays, mentality troubled from excessive pondering, as Wesker scuffed to an indecisive pace; tips trailing the counter's edge, which fell short, but continued on second chair's seam, and then another. The coarse fabric was distracting under nails, but blathering temples soon shattered comfort.

His nose furrowed as his head impulsively slanted, callused digits gripping into the material beneath as he tried relaxing into an averse lean; blades flexing when he failed to restrain a distorted snarl, which soon peeled his lips, and irate pants ignored his constricting throat as usual composed features lost control.

Never before had he felt so… _pissed_. And letting go of his emotions, as well as the now lifted seat― he released all frustrations on the illuminated partitions.

**…**

The jungle's recess of obstacles proved equally enlightening to Roger and Fawn as they broke free of oppressing shrubbery; however, elation wasn't shared by the third confederate, who was mentally elsewhere, suffering a losing battle of responsiveness vs. fatality; the direness of this situation well symbolized by the soggy air about, rain stopped for now, but only 'til the dark clouds lingering in the distance received the cue to resume.

"T-This…" Roger slowed speed, guzzling a lungful of air; his fading partner's arm draped dependently over his shoulder. "This is it…" And working around a gaping mouth, smacked saliva. "The warehouse." He tried to laugh. "See that, Joel?" Adding a small bounce with hopes to stir.

Being stuck together for a good amount of time really blanched the vinegary moods between all associates, conviction stimulating expectation of making it out of this god-forsaken place called, 'Guatemala' alive… But when no reaction came from the wounded member, something inside the once autocrat sank; cold and invisible hands pulling him into the murky void of his negative mind.

"C-Come on! Don't tell me ya died halfway here— and that I carried your heavy ass for nothin'?" Firm near the end, empathy was evident among the underlying message of anxiety, and after a few seconds of anticipation, there was a small moan—

Or was there?

Whatever it was, it was so low that both Fawn and Roger found doubt toning what they had heard— or _thought_ they heard. And when interlocking gazes with each other's fearful eyes, no one could really distinguish who the whine _actually_ came from…

"Shit! Help me put him down!"

The command was immediately complied with and Joel was dropped— tenderly and slowly— to his knees, young fingers molesting to check for that familiar life sign.

"He barely has a pulse!" Fawn withdrew in a couple dazed steps, rubbing vigorously at his sweaty freckles as if to try and smear them away, before letting his limbs droop by his side. "What do we do!"

Roger cringed from the pressure, bypassing with the safest and kindest reply of, "I don't know!" as he turned from the flustered draftee; glancing to the open warehouse behind, where he was distracted by various objects— generally associated with local militia. "Hey… Look." His hand rose with his voice before kicking an oxidized can, which lead eyes to smaller details. "It's like everyone left in a hurry—" And hope rocketed sky high when he saw an economical Land Rover, half in the bushes, and was going to commence further inspection until noticing the punctured tires and critter infested hood.

It sat there neglected; gangly vines creeping under its steel plates and wheels; stale paint blistering and peeling like sunburn. However, the most upsetting fraction was the state of equipment; defective and strewn about like empty bottles missing their chance of recycle. And a nose was turned up when spotting decaying food rations, exposed and abandoned to the conditions of the weather; smell just as terrible as the sight of metal patinas.

The whole place was practically one big scrap yard of rust poisoning— except for one area, holding a familiar shine which slowly fueled optimism— igniting Roger the strength for a brief jog.

His knees hit the boggy ground, blundering fingers quickly unlatching an aluminum case; opened with an inhale of astonishment, guttural laughter soon filling the air. "Now we're talkin'!"

The enthusiasm in Roger's voice tickled Fawn as he tried to ogle the object in his team member's hands, but glanced back momentarily to Joel, verifying circumstances before making his way over to the newly discovered excitement. "Oh my god, is that a—"

"Ithaca. M-Three-Seven." And rising to a proud stand, Roger cocked the handgrip, ejecting a shell casing from the chamber. "Last year's model, but still works." His haughty eyes flashed to the bewildered rookie's, "And we're back in business." before propping the gun against a barrel as he overturned neighboring cases in a hunt; siphoning through grenades, ammo, an empty can of first aid spray— "Aha!" He snatched a firearm that had been trapped between two crates, head still sniffing around as he meandered his arm behind, waving for Fawn to take. "This one's for you, kid."

But the young recruit didn't move a muscle, and instead only stared. Mark— he had called him, 'kid,' before being dissolved into nothing by the B.O.W.'s acid… and when hearing that word, his heart constricted…

"_Come on, what're ya waitin' for?"_

Fawn knew he should have pigeonholed distraction as a trifling matter by this point in his career, and tentatively made to go with the flow by reaching for the pistol, which was outlined by a shadow; however, he brushed it off as a bird, until—

"I gotta say." A humorous accent as a man in a biohazard suit unexpectedly landed on the earth between Fawn and Roger's offering hand, cancelling the transaction. "Even with a man down you B.S.A.A. are quick." There was a tube running from his mask to throat, to which he fingered with a twirl, splicing a shrug. "Or desperate."

And with the handgun dropped in a hurried regroup, it was up to Roger for protection, who stood poised, flanked by the intruder and Joel, accompanied by Fawn's helpless and distracting exclamation of, "Where the hell did he come from!" as infantile eyes peeked up to the blinding light with a shield; only allowing Roger a momentary glimpse at the roofing before snapping an annotation of,

"How the fuck should I know?"

Bickering wasn't intended but came naturally, and the furtive enemy used this moment of weakness to interject with a, "Really boys," prior to looming in front of the shotgun, middling an axe kick by the time focus fell back. "You could just ask."

And a heel clipped the peak of Roger's cranium, enemy bouncing back on one foot, soon ending with a firmly planted sole atop Fawn's not-yet-taken pistol with a grind.

There was a scamper as the just-assaulted B.S.A.A. member recovered, lifting his firearm to test its worth, firing a couple aimless rounds, which resulted in a quick roll from the enemy before something strange happened— feet mysteriously leaving ground with a sound modeling grating tendons as the airborne fugitive disappeared into overhead rafters with a badgering chortle.

"What the…!" Dazed and mind-bottled, Roger pointed his weapon at areas he felt most vulnerable for an attack— which was everywhere— while sweat dampened and matted his dark hair.

"His arms— That's gotta be who I saw on the beach!" Seemingly random for Fawn to disclose to his teammate, but then again, no one other than him strayed from the security of the beachside that morning, so only he knew what he was talking about.

And as if to taunt, there was another launch from one side of the dilapidated warehouse to the next, casting a curious glint to which Roger responded with careful aim and a calmed smirk. "Nice trick."

One shot,

ensuing with a _clink_ as a metal object chipped off the attacker's wrist, causing him to fall to the floor with an audible howl; Fawn exclaiming with a whoop of, "That's a—"

"Grappling hook launcher. Though I've never personally seen one as a wristband…"

However, even with the cat out of the bag, the enemy pompously ascended to his feet, but only temporarily before cackling like a seagull, to which oncoming hoots shook his legs from beneath and back onto the soil he fell; riding and wiggling in laugher between hacks and gasps. "S-Shit! You suck!"

And glances were exchanged between Roger and Fawn before a signal was given with a flicked wrist to move in, and muddy terrain was scuffed in approach.

"Comin' from someone who thought," the shotgun was stealthily pumped, empty casings tingling to the ground in reload, "silly illusions would trick a trained operative."

"T-Trained operative?" Choking on spit. "General Docksen Riverstone, D-Delta Force… Tell me solider, do you," a cough, "even remember the fundamentals of marksmanship?"

"Of course—"

"I-I don't think you do, because," a snort, rising, "if you really— ha, wanted to kill someone." He quickly revealed and poised an armed, staid hand at Roger, who did the same. "You'd make the first shot count."

_Ba—ba—bang!_

A hanging light above Docksen dangled violently from a rebounded pellet; blood leaking to the floor as he stumbled back in distress. And groping at his spilling wound, zealously glanced over a shoulder to see juvenile eyes bulging from trepidation, half hidden behind barrels with the once-discarded subset handgun in grasp. "You… little rat!" Was the only phrase uttered before crashing into crates, causing the boy to jump like a stag— immediately darting to the other member.

"Roger!" And Fawn struggled to latch an arm around his injured teammate, fighting to keep him upright, but couldn't stop from falling to a knee; pressing a hand firmly to the trickling lesion. "No, no, no-no-no."

"Dammit…" Roger snorted from his throat, spitting to the side, but some caught his chin and dangled; red phlegm diluted by clear saliva. "I missed—"

There was a detached cackle seeping from the wreck of wood, "Christ, this hurts." And the General slowly peeled himself from the mucky ground, staggering weight. "Damn tub of lard. Probably forgot he was supposed to meet me—" but a hacking fit drew wet gags from his gorge, maw of the mask quickly pulled from flesh as he began coughing up blood into his cloaked hand. "S-Shit." He sounded dry, ripping the dangling mouth segment fully off— identity still concealed by the top part of the facade as he cast the lower piece aside. "OK. You bunch… had a good run… but I'm done with you."

And attention was directed to scattered grenades, which sat conveniently at his feet, before one was illicitly snatched, tossed up and down acutely.

"Heard… there's a party in Hell." Before recklessly gliding a soiled and gloved digit under the pin. "Here's your invitation." And there was an avid tug— two tug— three. However, rust had sealed the joint, refusing to let loose, no matter how many times he yanked at it. _Argh! _He hunched over, timed device still sleeping in hand. "Piece of…!"

It was somewhat piteous to see Docksen struggling with his injury, but in that split second Roger decided it was now over never, and took to use this distraction wisely by muttering, "Go on… kid. Get outta here."

But Fawn didn't budge, instead sniveled, "What about you— and Joel!" And wet gaze carried to the motionless lump they had disregarded since the fight started; the sound of buzzing flies hovering as one insect landed on a half-opened eye— twitching softly, physique restructuring under the skin with silent groans.

"He's… too far gone, and I'll only… hold you back." Roger barked a short lived laugh. "Come on… If I was in your shoes, I'd already be runnin'." He grasped Fawn's shoulder tightly, trying to weasel his suggestion of flight through contact. "Sorry… we got off to such a… bad start." Another reassured snicker. "And just so ya know, I don't really blame you for—"

However, grip was bitterly shaken, "Stop!" And hooking under Roger's arm, Fawn pulled up, dragging a few strides away. "Apologize later. We're— both gonna make it!"

"Not… if I can help it!" Docksen stumbled towards the once-held shotgun, getting ready to cast the grenade aside before a brief, deathly chill rang through the air ceasing breath; not even a bird's tweet before a sodden, bone crushing hand seized around his wrist, causing a burst of verbal shock.

And Fawn turned, while Roger did his best to follow—discovering a mutant arm trailing from Joel; the immobile body undergoing a rapid transformation— dissolving the bugs hovering on melting skin as the General vigorously squirmed to free himself.

"W-What the hell! Let… go of me!"

"Oh god, Joel—!" But Roger dug his heels in the ground, preventing Fawn from rushing in blind with the both of them.

"_**Stay… **_away." And thanks to the power of his newly acquired limbs, Joel pulled himself up; every morsel of strength fighting to preserve his fading humanity as he held Docksen at bay with his slimy encasement. "_**Drinks… are**_ on me, activist." And there was a slow, distorted smile to his friends as his greasy, merged fingers shakily wriggled into the stuck grenade's ring, popping with a short heave as it slipped from confinement, the General still struggling before a fierce,

"Oh, fu—"

_BOOM!_

And as the smoke overtook saturated eyes, veiling the battlefield with grief, the B.S.A.A. duo were left to wallow in sadness from losing such a reliable member for a moment, but as if attracted by the commotion, the substantially large B.O.W. from the village made a sloppy cameo, like a rabid dog with a respiratory problem; shuffling hurried leaps towards the two as acid dripped from visible and happy fangs.

Movement was hurried with confusion as Fawn dragged Roger to his feet firmly, pulling him into a gallop with a dynamic, "RUN!"

But was slowed by Roger's pained groan of, "Ah— can't we… catch a break in this hellhole?"

**…**

_OK. I'm an expert in Special Tactics and Rescue... Not SAR, and following a short ride to the upper floor— all thanks to Jill's mastery with the lock pick— we soon found ourselves at our designated destination, walls incomparably white when associated with the décor downstairs; not to mention, the whole area reeking of putrid chemicals, implementing major hygiene. And standing on a level such as this— situated atop an insecure structure with decay and mold eating the support below, really made me consider the longevity of this building…_

_But talk about perfect… This spot was an ideal breeding ground for scum terrorists just waiting to add to the fear of bioterrorism. Don't know how this place managed to stay off the B.S.A.A.'s radar until now…_

"…_Maybe I'm just not cut out for this anymore."_

"Me neither."

I glanced to Jill. _Shit. Did I say that out loud?_ But on second thought, observation became attentive to the distance put between us due to my spent feet. _Ha._ Hadn't realized how much concentration I was putting into inner muses and couldn't help but snort slight embarrassment, publicizing a malleable _ugh_ shortly after; nothing too loud though and mustered a jog to reunite by her side. "Ever get the feelin' you're stuck in some groundhog flick?"

Her soft lips parted into an understanding smile, eyes fluttering in earnest sincerity. "Every damn day."

And I failed to restrain from complimenting her response with a grin of my own, before sucking air and nodding forward, "So…" I tried to keep a temperate pace, despite the very strong ache in my gut, but also found it hard to ditch the eagerness of how our search was finally narrowed to this singular stretch of hall. "This where we're supposed to meet your guy?"

My gaze was followed, focusing on the double doors closing in with each approaching stride, to which she acknowledged with an, "I hope so..."

And her unsure tone drew a thin line of doubt through my optimism, lessening the expectations I had on receiving an answer to increasing worries, but tried to shake further qualm with a positive attitude. "Alright."

The dismal possibility revolving around my wellbeing was overwhelming and I downed a swallow. Couldn't pit the likelihood of finding new evidence that would shatter my anticipation of being cured, and only the finely polished, lever handle would have the pleasure of knowing my implicit concerns as I ensnared it with a nervous grasp and turned; however, not before Jill conveyed with a cautious hand.

"Chris, just… be careful. There's something odd about this man."

Well, if that didn't sound disconcerting, then I don't know what did and as if on cue— promptly echoing her stipulation— was a small sound pattering past the nearly inclusive, metal fold and I nodded with a, "Great. Can't wait to meet 'im." Before unholstering my gun congruently with Jill, quickly slipping inside.

However, disillusionment was mine when I didn't see the male Jill had described earlier, only some bumbling woman, operating one of the computers located in the far middle. _Think she was a scientist_, judging from the coat, but in any case—

"Freeze!"

Although, it didn't take anything louder than the swinging door to remove the feminine worker from her seat, arms paddling air attributing incoherent mutters— none fully recognizable— before she tried to siphon her compilation of loose paper and books into greedy arms; frizzy, ginger hair amplifying surprise, before realizing, _I guess_, that it came down to surrendering herself or abandoning everything to take this opportunity to escape, and after a small skip with barely a glance, she took to the hills… Though in reality, it was more like the back exit but,

"Dammit!" _Does every room gotta have one?_ I broke into a sprint, jumping over one of the center tables, easily slipping corner to corner due to the expoxied, stainless steel worktop; however even after my engaging follow-up, which ended with an ample pang of sickness, I didn't land close enough to our target, ineptly letting her slip by with a head start, ducking through the suitably situated outlet. _Trust my luck…_ "J-Jill!"

"On it!" She was already running ahead, rounding the desk on my remote left before side-hopping the inconvenient and unnecessary ramp railing, only to have the same outcome as me, mainly because a button was pressed upon the woman's departure, initiating a metal gate to close, severing our objective and triggering a warning with a familiar, electronic voice, stating:

"_**This room is now under quarantine. Please remain calm and standby until inoculation has been administrated. I repeat…"**_

"Wait!" I belatedly advanced against the egress, interlocking a set of fingers among the chainlike enclosure, governing a hard and lengthy tug just as the lights flickered off; resuming with a red tint and small siren bulb, which churned into motion; silently pulling a beam of similar color to and fro the vicinity. And forcing my view to withdraw from the sudden distraction, I managed to catch a glimpse of the fleeing female, disappearing out of reach. "You've gotta be kiddin' me!" I connected the tip of my boot to the lower shingles, enthusing a restless pivot, but not before planting a hot fist against our fusible captor. "Shit!"

Jill reapplied the safety of her handgun with an agitated head roll before lifting her unoccupied palm in a shrug. "Well, that went well…." Her pitch came as annoyed as I felt when she pocketed her weapon and cupped at her hips with an unenthusiastic puff at her tousled bangs.

And I couldn't agree more. Kinda pictured this interrogation happening a little better than what just went down and fuming an exhale, imitated Jill with the concealment of my own firearm and bent elbows.

"…Now what?"

I'm pretty sure Jill just said that to break the tension of disappointment accumulating in the room, but was unable to contain an irritable snort. "You're askin' me?" _Why did Jill think I had all the answers?_ And I passed a wondering stare, which she returned. Probably because I had never been cross with her before and not being able to account for my wordy hostility, chose to switch view to the area around; more specifically, anywhere besides her eyes.

_If she wanted an answer, I didn't have one… _Couldn't really explain this aggression myself, and felt a little ashamed, attempting to clear misconduct with a gentle, "Sorry," which lightly corrected my conscience when Jill nodded in sympathy.

No doubt we were both tired and this unnerving, repetitious warning did anything but alleviate our frame of minds. How long was it programmed to reiterate this phrase? _'Cause this say-so is enough to drive the sane insane_, particularly when it failed to fall lower than soft ambient music, the kind you find in family restaurants.

"There's gotta be some sorta way to overwrite the system." I chose to take action first, animating with measured revolve, ceasing at the computer that dicey woman occupied during her brief seating and hoped Jill heard me because I didn't feel like competing with the array of noise, not to mention the symptoms of an oncoming headache. So I pinched the ducts of my eyes, taking a breath while my other hand brushed the disheveled papers coating the table's surface, until noticing memorable text—

"Wait a minute, these documents…" I pulled at one of the base sheets, unconfining it from the surplus mess, lifting it to the ceiling for clarification, using the dim illumination as light. "I think they're from the lab downstairs."

"What? From Aristov's journals?" Jill pressed closer, squinting at my discovery before scrounging in her rear pouch for— what I confidently assumed— was her flashlight. _Ha_, good thing she still had hers… otherwise we'd be reading in partial darkness since Wesker thought it fun to strip me of that convenience as well. I mean seriously, what real harm could a battery operated torch do? Besides blind him for a second or two, but—

A soft, white glow filled the room refocusing my mind on more important matters and I watched as Jill tested the newfound brightness with a couple taps, validating its dedication to stay lit; and once satisfied with results, she aimed the ray at the countertop, soon exploring. "Looks like someone was photocopying his notes."

"Probably that woman." Obvious, but no harm in restating observation as I diverted my interest to various pieces of information, exclusively the pages I didn't remember reading before; trying to focus on sections of finer value; _kinda like this one._

A notebook, half obscured by a cover lid, sat obtruding from one of the partitioned scanners in front, exposed just enough to allow someone who knew what they were looking for the chance to make out segments of the label containing the words—

C-Virus, and Project C

—on upturned folios.

And without a second thought I procured it— carefully— seeing as it was far more tattered than those previously handled and flipped it in my grasp, examining the spine. "Volume five..."

But some individual sheets stuffed inside drew attention as I plucked them from security.

…_Patient files?_ I _did _briefly remember something mentioned in volume four, so I don't know why I felt so bemused when glancing them over.

_**Subject A, Aunya Gepfner**_

_**Such a sweet and innocent girl. Mr. Gepfner has informed me that she suffers from Addison's disease, and I grieve for him. There are treatments at which she is on, but no absolute cure... This man, he's willing to put his entire company at stake to incorporate the use of viral weaponry into this project...**_

_**At first, I did not agree to his standards, but after witnessing the effects of what it could do, found myself wondering why I wasn't aware of this type of drug before? And out of curiosity asked Mr. Gepfner where he acquired such a magnificent prescription? He told me of the deal he made with a man who approached him with the talk of a cure…**_

_**Sounded like a devil's promise to me, but I couldn't believe my ears— let alone eyes. As a scientist, I wanted to meet this man in person, but was denied such a conference, 'He's not one for social gatherings,' was Mr. Gepfner's reply and I was disheartened, but left things as they were.**_

_**Aunya's adorable expressions and unyielding fascination with life... I want to gift her with the opportunity of a normal childhood. 'I need you to,' according to Mr. Gepfner and I will try my hardest. After all, failure is not an option.**_

_**I must see this project through. I have so much to learn…**_

_**Subject B, Bronz McKiddle**_

_**A brilliant scholar specializing in Botany, such a shame he suffers from Alzheimer's... All the knowledge he's retained over the years, slipping from memory little by little... I hope to cure this gentleman of his disease so that he may regain his purpose. Our conversations during sessions are quite lovely and I never tire of hearing his wonderful stories...**_

_**Even when most of them are repeated…**_

_**On a side note, Mr. McKiddle has also asked for private sessions to help him get over his addiction to steroids. I had a suspicion that he was using... A man of his structure shouldn't have such a bulky form like his... So yes, I've agreed to try therapy; this is much easier to treat than forgetfulness, and I pray we do it right.**_

_**Subject C, "Civil" Cissell Villani**_

_**A quiet man when singled out, but rather talkative when confronted. He's straight and to the point, only adding slight humor to his speeches to calm rising disappointment or anger. There's a certain way at which he carries himself, and as polite and intelligent as he is, I wouldn't get on his bad side. I suspect he has a military background because of his reflexes, but he won't confirm or deny my inquiries. Only thing I do know is that he has been diagnosed with a brain tumor, and what else...**_

_**Oh yes... He felt compelled to inform me that he wasn't related to the Italian mafia. **_

_**Heavens, I didn't need to know that...**_

_**Subject D, General Docksen Riverstone, Delta Force**_

_**This guy's been pulling my leg since the beginning of this project; refusing to tell me anything besides his profession (**__DF__**), sickness (**__Tuberculosis), and__** likes of unicorns and cotton candy. What a prick, always ridiculing me with his jarring cackle.**_

_**Its people like him who I regret curing the most; simply here because of their abundance of money and feeling of self importance… I'm treating men who take the lives of others for fun!**_

_**But am I one to talk? As a scientist, always switching patients when others die… where does that leave me?**_

_**Subject E, Elise du Pont**_

_**A soft spoken woman who doesn't match the status of any of my other patients. Neither wealthy or successful, she has struggled to fight against breast cancer alone, unable to afford treatment until now and tells me that she plans on opening an art gallery of her work when she recovers.**_

_**I don't know how she got involved with our program, but I'm not paid to ask and am required to assist where I can, so I told her in my best French accent, 'Vous êtes entre de bonnes mains.'**_

_**And she is.**_

A memo had been taped to the side of her picture, dated April 16th, 2010.

_**Regretfully, Elise du Pont did not make it through the surgical procedure, but we kept her cadaver in the underground basement for further testing, seeing as how the decomposition has been reformed at a slower pace; a slight encasement of film protecting the body…**_

I dispassionately put the records down in a huff, vigorously molesting my left temple before a headshake and sigh, _Dammit, Aristov… Was becoming a slave to your job really worth it? _And bending forward slid both palms onto table's cold surface, causing it to haze against my body temperature, to which I cast a contradicting glare.

_What the hell?_

And Jill added to my perplexity with a firm grip to my bicep, holding on amid my startled turn with a, "Chris, are you— oh, you're burning up!" And even though I found fact in her surmise— due to my previous observation on the metallic plane— couldn't hold back disagreement, because my impression was anything but.

"Feels like we're standin' in the South Pole..." I meant it as a deceitful tease, but failed to erase the seriousness in my tone as I went to pry her fingers from my flesh— incoherently stumbling from a wave of sudden dizziness, which resulted in sensually pressed space and embracing arms; her provoked breath puffing with mine.

"J-Jill…" This definitely wasn't my intention, and butterflies began an ailing flutter— immediately infringing awkwardness as I went to push away in embarrassment, but she tightened an insistent hold.

"Chris… I—"

It came as a beseeching mutter and I closed my eyes, trying to fight a moan; protective gear nauseatingly squeezing with culpability— although I'm pretty sure it shouldn't have felt this physical— but also couldn't help mentally kicking myself in the ass for misinterpretation after her,

"I don't want to lose you."

What was I thinking? She was just concerned about my wellbeing, not attempting to arouse omitted affection… _Don't know why that was my first impression_, and tried to reassure her worry with a, "Hey… I'm not goin' anywhere—" But an unexpected twinge of agony opposed comfort and I cringed, quickly gripping her arm to peel away in a curve, bumping the table's edge, which I soon swapped to for support.

"Chris! What it is— what's wrong?" Her mind was probably flooding with possibilities— main worry being that I was about to mutate, seen in countless encounters throughout our vocation, but I tried to bolster her— as well as myself that it was,

"N-Nothin'…" All the while tucking my head across my forearm, muting a groan and keeping my eyes hidden from hers while drowning a painful gulp, gripping my stomach where I felt the most ache. "—i-it's nothin'."

But she pried at my shoulder, to which I resisted before she pulled up a chair, yanking me to sit and I did— heavily; an elbow on my knee as I lowered my head in a shake while using my occupied hand to grope at the determined torture grating inside, trying to subdue with a hard stroke. "Shit…"

And awkwardly looking up, I met a face silently pleading, _'please tell me you're fine, because I don't wanna pull my gun on you.'_ So I tried my own soundless reply through a famous, _'I'm OK'_ half-smile with a question mark as the partial.

"Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

"Would if I knew myself… Though I think my body's rejectin' the virus— according to Gepfner anyways…" Whether I actually believed words that came from that man's mouth was beyond me, but I had to hold onto something; couldn't let doubt override my better judgment.

"What can I do to help?"

And I flicked attention to the journal I neglected when sidetracked by the patient files, "Hand me that… would'ya? There might be somethin' there that can… fill us in on what we're dealin' with…"

_**April 20, 2010**_

_**Recovery seems to be going as planned, taking place at a natural and steady pace. All subjects well on the road to a full and healthy mend. I am glad, yet slightly disheartened. My patients do not see me as their savoir, merely a tool to provide them with a cure... I've worked very hard to reach where I am today and am wondering if it's rude to ask for a little recognition?**_

_**Even my employer overlooks my products as categorized mass production, but no one truly understands how long it takes to make such a remedy.**_

_**My whole career... I've put my heart and soul into helping people, yet don't receive a shred amount of respect. This has to change. If it doesn't, I don't know what I'll do.**_

Page seventy-three.

_**May 15, 2010**_

_**After the alteration on the virus, which sadly took longer than expected to complete, I immediately began testing its conclusion on live specimen. Starting small at first, using occasional rabid rodents and sick livestock from neighboring villages. However, nothing bigger than a fully matured goat, seeing as if the subjects turned out to be failures, it'd be hard to dispose of the bodies…**_

Page one-hundred and thirty-three.

_**May 26, 2010**_

_**That woman... I caught her using unauthorized access to my computer, and when approaching her on the subject as to why she was intruding on my privacy, her cheeks flushed complimenting carroty mane. At first, I thought she was pinching my work— to take credit for herself, but after a short talk realized that she wasn't a thief, only an underrated colleague with an infatuation on this 'Mr. Wesker' she constantly referred to…**_

_**She also stated that, 'Albert was inquiring about the progress of the prototype and the advanced formula being included in the virus' sequence.'**_

_**This 'Albert Wesker,' is he the one behind the scenes? I might have finally had the chance to meet him! And slightly enraged, I had to ask, 'Why couldn't he have come to me himself?' But then again…**_

I turned the folio.

_**I don't think I would've had the courage to stare that man in the face… not after all the rumors…**_

_**In the end, I brushed her off with a light scold, and warning about future invasions, but maybe this behavior involves further inspection, as I do not fully trust Ms. M…**_

A stain, assuming it was coffee, had compromised the rest of the penmanship, and I warily pinched the sheet, twisting it over.

Page two-hundred and fifteen.

_**June 1, 2010**_

_**My thoughts on this project have changed drastically; too much has been required of me and I can't shake the stress. Sure, with Elise's death I've gained a deeper understanding as to how the virus works; subjects have to be in a healthier condition before being exposed, but for some reason Mr. McKiddle's body is dissolving the parasite and I no longer believe him to be curable.**_

_**However, that woman insists we continue to help him... But I can't allow my life's work to be wasted on something so... lost, and regret my actions of denying him the samples, but he is no longer my concern.**_

_**I'm sorry…**_

.

.

_**Dear god, what have I become?**_

Page three-hundred and four.

_**June 19, 2010**_

_**There are rumors going around that there's a mole within Alkagen and for some reason everyone is looking at me with discerning eyes.**_

_**Do they think I'm the rat?**_

_**Those bastards! Just because I'm the lead scientist doesn't mean I'm the sole person with access to the labs... How ridiculous! Ill prove to them I'm not the traitor, and then they'll see—**_

_**They'll all see!**_

_**June 25, 2010**_

_**I've found the mole!**_

_**How could I have been so blind? That person... Lied straight to my face and is now a complete stranger! I was fooled from the very beginning...**_

_**Mark my words… now that I know your true identity karma's a bitch.**_

_**But how to prove my innocence? Would screenshots from the hidden cameras justify as support? I'll try that approach first, but won't show them until the time is right—**_

_**No. I'll wait for a better moment, one that will ruin that person's life as they almost did mine!**_

_**I'm putting the printed evidence in the newest of my writing journals— volume eight— for safe keeping... Can't wait to see the punishment that will befall this traitor... What will Mr. Wesker say?**_

_Damn._ Looks like Alkagen had its own problems to worry about, however, "If Aristov's notes are being sold to other companies, then anyone who replicates his research could stand as another possible threat, and that's more trouble than the B.S.A.A. can handle right now..."

That, and there wasn't a single thread of useful information for my situation… which left a bad taste in my mouth, but now wasn't the time to sulk.

"Think the mole's still here?" Jill's voice came low, still engrossed among the papers and I sighed with a,

"Who knows…"

Before she moved to the computer, bringing up windows that were never closed— the ones accessed by that female scientist— only to begin with another attentive investigation and I had to admire her steadfastness.

Although she could count me out. Couldn't really give a damn about this room anymore… especially since that nagging voice was still at it; never dulling or giving indication of a cease and I discarded the journal, rubbing at my ears then eyes until Jill startled my inattention with an unanticipated outburst of,

"Wesker!"

And all daydreaming fled when I leapt from the chair to hold upright posture; heart mimicking the actions of my chest before sinking lower with a, "Wha— Where!" as I cupped the gun in my holster, soon noticing her concentration didn't hold the alarm of mine, simply because the man she spoke of was not in person, but exhibited in the footage of one of the computer screens; which was flicking between rooms, only holding for a few seconds at best before switching to the next; until Jill hit pause with a,

"Here." and firmly tapped the display—dragging her pointer to the recording's details aligning the bottom, "Looks like he's in the main control room."

And I tried to hide a relived sigh and, well, would be lying if I said I didn't feel a little liberated knowing that he wasn't stationed near our current position, moreover pitted the thought of starting another long ramble— not with our reunion still fresh and haunting in my mind, and couldn't help but ask,

"When was this taken?" Although, I'm pretty sure I read the panel right, except found myself wanting to hear it from Jill; and felt little comfort when she confirmed my observation with the reply of,

"It's live feed—"

"_**This room… is now under quaran…tine. Please… remain ca…lm… and standby… until…"**_

And as if to add a linger— a very unexpected linger— to our condensed atmosphere, the electronic voice deteriorated in slow-mo, grating more nerves than its regular pitch, but I couldn't really complain because at least—

"It's… stopping?"

"Yeah, looks like." However, that wasn't enough to motivate me to lower my gun and I glanced around, "Someone must have finally pulled the plug—"

_Click._

The handle of the door we used to enter this entrapping room twisted, and I gave Jill a quick nod, who sidestepped with me to take aim. But just as we moved the lights above were triggered, receding from gloom to normal, ending with a soft, white pulse.

_Ngh._ Felt like I was just exposed to a flash grenade, and shielded my eyes with a forearm, hoping to erase my blindness before the double slates fully opened. But when a voice came while I was still submitted in darkness, I felt vulnerable, not knowing who or what my attacker was and had to rely on Jill's exhale of,

"...you."

_Must have been a good thing_, and when vision finally returned, I saw a very large man— biceps twice the size of mine— and a height tall enough to intimidate a horse.

_Could this be…? What was his name—_

I opened my mouth to chat, but no words were said— more like had _time_ to be said— because just as promptly and out-of-the-blue as he came, after his announce of, "Oh dear, I'm sorry. I must have the wrong room." the door was shut with a gentle fasten; and although I knew I should be concerned and upset about being relocked in this damn space, just had to wonder,

"That guy… Is that what you meant by strange?"

"Yeah..."

And devoid of having to pursue, within the next few seconds, the large being reentered with a, "Hm, I'm pretty sure I'm in the right area... Um, who did you say you two were again?"

_But we never said... Argh. Screw it. _"We're—"

Jill raised her hand, giving me the look of 'be gentle,' and I had to scoff. What? It's not like he was a child who needed special treatment. I know how to handle kids… but this guy didn't deserve my patience and I expressed my outlook through a unvoiced brow furrow; to which Jill took upon herself to complete the rest of my sentence with a soft,

"—B.S.A.A... We're B.S.A.A.."

Don't know why she was hesitant with this man, but did vaguely remember her explaining earlier that he had an issue with that title, so couldn't really be sure on how he was going to react... But as if everything was normal, after a brushing tilt of his head— accompanying a couple nods— there was a small puff,

"Oh, that's right! Good, good!" and he turned away.

_Huh. Guess she was just over thinkin' it—_

But without warning, a small stand was pushed over, echoing against the marble tiles with a loud clang and I tried not to withdraw; grip tightening on the trigger. Just had one of those moments where you jump on the inside, but manage to hold composure on the out. _Looks like we'll have to watch ourselves around this guy_... He's kinda unpredictable, and from Jill's glimpse I could tell she was set on the same.

"This won't do... It _**won't do**_**...**" Thick rimmed glasses were removed in a muttering fit with shaky hands and I told myself I shouldn't, but felt inclined to further provoke by adding,

"Somethin' wrong?"

as he anxiously made his way to the suspended cabinets aligning the closest wall; greedily ransacking them for their contents; bypassing gloves, plastic bags, and multiple pill bottles until one of different shape and color clattered to the lower countertop with a small roll. And movements were halted as Jill and I passed puzzled gazes to one another, aim lowering unintentionally, but the sight was one of question...

However, our weapons reposed when that singular container was clasped in fumbling fingers, soon emptying the contents into an open mouth and extended tongue; and I couldn't stop myself from asking,

"Wait— what are you takin'?" Because that sure as hell didn't look like your normal, everyday prescription.

But no response came. Only a slow, progressive chew, finishing with a loud crunch and exaggerated swallow, before Jill stepped forward when menacing serenity persisted.

"Bronz McKiddle, I need you to talk to us."

There was a slight twitch of recognition to his name and a turn gradually followed. "I'm sorry, I just got so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I... Well, it doesn't matter. You B.S.A.A. don't need to know my intentions... That is who you are, correct?

Well, if I didn't know any better... I'd say that whatever he took helped with his little 'memory problem' and wanted to know,

"What kind of medication was that?" _Was it specifically a cure for dementia?_ Or did it serve another purpose— I was hoping for the latter— and felt the need to inquire, "Is that to counteract the effects of the virus?" And when he didn't make a move to reply, I advanced; tolerance wearing thin. "Answer me!" But a palm was raised and I immediately halted.

"No need for such hostility… You want to know, so I'll _show_ you." And he began a forward approach, stopping to elegantly search through an elongated counter's drawer in front of us. "However, since my doctor's not here, I guess I'll have to give you the demonstration myself." And when a second compartment was opened, items were pushed aside as he continued looking, glancing up briefly to check our status, before ambitious eyes carried back to something he found; and I didn't see it clearly until it was lifted from the partition with a, "Though I'm a bit weary of the dosage."

_Ah, shit._ _A needle? _"W-What are you doing?" My eyes didn't stray from the piercing object, but my body did and I backed a few feet, waving my gun in accompaniment to my command, "Drop the syringe." And I didn't mean to make it evident, but suddenly felt myself growing a paranoia for these damn instruments.

However, he paid no heed; slipping the small tube briefly into his mouth to roll up a sleeve with a grunt, soon following with a cleared explanation of, "No. This is supposed to amplify the process of the capsule I just ingested filled with a watered down dosage of C-virus material."

_And that's exactly what I was afraid of…_ "This parasite that Alkagen's manufacturing— if you're takin' multiple doses, then something must not be workin' for you." And his attention was mine, hot orbs flinching with growing revolution which I struggled to soften with, "So why don'tcha do yourself a favor and stop while you're ahead— Better yet, take a walk outside to see the damage that's been done already! It's really an eye opener."

OK. I wasn't one for giving inspirational lectures, but tried my hardest to motivate and invoke feelings of remorse; hoping this man would magically change heart and decided to question his actions…

Thought I was actually getting somewhere too, but it was all wishful thinking.

"You dare inform me of how to treat my own illness?" And without a second thought, McKiddle's elbow fervently descended onto the smooth, metallic tabletop— soft area in the crevice exposed as the sharp tip was projected down; wine colored liquid evicted, traveling through soon bulging veins with a growl.

_ Argh! I'm done playin' Mr. Nice Guy. _And I fired a warning shot, shattering the emptying vial, which widened pale, indigo eyes as they slowly dragged to accolade mine. "Enough… we want answers." But as if my proceedings weren't recognized, his mental state remained focused on the interruption of his actions.

"That wasn't… **very… polite**—" And the broken glass was pitched aside as he took a couple steps towards us, before halting with a pained glance to his injected arm, which produced a sickening clamor as it began to squirm with vitality; cloth tearing from its growing size. "**W-What! …What's happening?**"

_Ha_, this wasn't really a laughing matter, but why was I not surprised?

_Poor bastard, maybe he should've read the directions first…_ And I could see the erudition fleeting from his sockets— overriding with animalistic instinct, and when an instrument table was jarred, lifted and tossed, we quickly chose distance; backs pressed to base cabinets on disparate sides. His heavy pants chilling me to the bone, only because I knew he was still stalled where I last saw him, but the rattling echoes made it feel as though he was looming right over our position…

And Jill and I held a stare— not to mention our breaths— as we waited for the next attack, but nothing came; only more intimidating inhalations, and I confusedly glanced, turning an ear to the rear as well as my eyes, though it's not like I had x-ray vision and could see through cabinets… So I shifted a peek, but before managing eyelevel, found the dresser drawers pushing into me, and slipped in surprise against its force, before attempting a futile shove-back; Jill having no better luck as she slid submissively on her backside, receiving little resistance from her firmly placed hands, and with space becoming constricted due to an opposing set of furniture, we directed attention to an alternative escape route: the alcove of two adjoining tables.

Jill made the first dive, and I wasn't too far behind with my sloppy uptake, and once out of that appending danger, the durability of the counter caved under McKiddle's whim as he hammered it with two tightly grasped fists, smashing it clean in half.

Christ, the brute had grown massive— temper n' all, and it kinda made me feel like I was fighting the Hulk as I could only gape at his veining physique; features distorting as the tissue on one side of his face began to melt, exposing muscles followed by oral bones protruding from his already natural set dentures; and I could tell it was gonna take a lot of manpower to neutralize this guy, but didn't have the ammunition for it, and neither did Jill, which she made clear with eye contact before we turned, immediately ducking from another flipped instrument stand.

And we made a run for the formerly re-opened exit, passing with little struggle, but not before I repeated the actions of the escaped feminist, quickly bringing my fist down and hard onto the automated locking switch. Despised feelings toward the system quickly swapping to respect as it leapt into command, now closing with a steady slide: copying earlier antics, except for much better reasons.

I knew there was no permanent way of stopping a monster that size, but with such a durable-looking fence separating us, felt safer. However, there was no harm in running a few more paces as we now were, but perhaps it was for the best, because right when we hit center hall the barrier was rammed against; ravenous hands clawing at the links, and I didn't hold my breath when hearing a small tinker against the cement— from a bolt that had just come undone, and my eyes fell to the floor; watching it spin a sorrowful tune.

But I wasn't the only onlooker, beatings soon ceasing, and I could only watch bloodshot sockets hungrily glance for what had created the sound, and when sight locked onto the tiny fastener, focus immediately reclaimed us; intelligence surfacing before he reared on his back legs, like a gorilla ready to strike its chest, but instead pounded the enclosure, casting it from the welded hinges with a loud clatter—opening a whole new can of worms.

Seriously, we were gonna need a bigger bucket, because I didn't realize the lockdown had affected the entire hallway, and witnessing an isolated tram's entrance— our only apparent escape off this damn floor— closing, I quickly returned to motion with a, "Go, go, go, go-GO!"

I never ran so fast in my life, barely making it into the concluding booth, only to scarcely miss another punch from our pursuer, which severely dented the trolley doors as they fell shut, retaining the impression of 'escaping just by a hair' as we were pulled towards the adjacent floors; accompanied by an old, Spanish guitar piece from the crackling ceiling speakers above, remixing our grating breaths before I reluctantly stripped myself off the wall, collapsing to a cap as I groped my throbbing abdomen.

_Ugh._ All this upheaval had somehow added extra pressure, which I quickly made to release by unclipping my vest, letting a cold hand slip under to meet fevered flesh with a hiss, and a—

"You OK?"

I quickly retracted my prodding fingers, staggering for balance— a little curious as to what I just felt, but brushed it off with a, "I will be… once this is all over." And she agreed diffidently as I paused to watch the programmed path display multiple stops.

_What the hell… was that?_

**…**

Wesker tapped a fixed beat to the side of his cranium, slouched posture held by an elbow on one damaged chair's rest; sentiments fluxing as unspoken idiom perplexed whether to wear a smile, or scorn. The earlier attacks on the surrounding electrical units had failed to satisfy the urge of murder, but at least his head was cleared of disturbance… And after what felt like hours in the sporadic, iridescent darkness, mellow lights endowed the room with illumination.

"Mhm, there you are—" Gepfner made an approach but quickly halted, reeling balance before planting his shiny, expensive shoes firmly on the ground; debris and destruction at his heeled tips. "What is the meaning of this?" His deep, Russian accent was discolored by agitation, but Wesker paid him no heed.

And thrown by this sudden strain of oddity, Sylon advanced, footsteps ever so soft as if the floor was made of glass— and some parts were. And even though he'd been working together with his man for six months, he knew close to nothing about him, but when promised means of saving his Aunya, couldn't pass down the opportunity, so he tried to get to the connotation behind this outlandish persona. "Did… something _good_ happen—"

"Not-quite." And realizing the promptness of his snap due to Gepfner's visible reaction, Wesker inhaled sincerely, adjusting his position with a scoot and crossed leg. "…But perhaps it depends on how you look at the situation."

"And that would be?"

"It's of no concern to you."

"But it _is_ when it involves my _daughter_." And he received a snippy glare from Wesker, but bravely held ground. "I had pleasure of meeting your friend, Chris Redfield, a short while ago and must say, this little plan of yours seems to rely on conjecture more than guarantee and in all honestly, I am not sure I like arrangement anymore." Voice grew distance as a pace was initiated. "That, and your virus may be rejecting him—"

And this speculation forced a snort from Wesker, ending in a cynical and bemused, "Oh?"

"—but that still does not account for his lack of restrictions! What if parasite had broken out during our brief moment of meeting, and mutated right in front of my daughter— MY Aunya! Endangering her health, not to mention sanity? What then, mhm?"

_Hrn_. There was another derisive grunt as Albert fixed the cuff of his once-discarded glove. "That'd have been quite the sight… but I assure you, no such harm would have befallen you, or your wretched brat."

Gepfner's jaw fell short of closing, tensing at Wesker's choice of words, feeling caustic rage swelling inside as he made a daring, independent declaration. "Then I believe it is about time I collect what is mine… The antidote, if you please… After all, that is what was promised in exchange for all this…"

Shaky hands motioned to the facility around, all the while Wesker let a baleful chuckle part his mouth, enjoying the fleeting moments of this feeble maggot's squirm.

"…A-And I've kept up my part of bargain."

However, coercion aside, holding obligations for keeping promises in the past was never a part of Wesker's character and he wasn't considering to switch up now, so simply replied with an unyielding, "No." to which Gepfner tried to fish for sympathy with a,

"W-What? But my daughter— she'll die!"

And it sickened Wesker to see such an expression of worry for someone other than one's self, and he cringed vowing that he would never stoop to such levels of anxiety, but something inside challenged the mere thought.

Was he too going to suffer such belittling concern with this accumulated turn of events? Now that would be an interesting experiment to put to the test… But to think, he'd be using himself as a mere guinea pig… How amusing.

Although no laughter sounded.

"…_Well?"_

Brought back by Sylon's impatience for truth, Wesker rose from his chair, fixing his darling glasses— which influenced the Russian to adjust his own due to nervousness— and Albert didn't really feel the need to remind, but gave in with a short, "I simply _supplied_ you the prototype, to which _your_ scientists were left to modify to agreed standards…"

"One of whom you killed—!"

"Via _your_ request."

"—I asked no such thing!"

There was a hum, "Oh, that _is_ unfortunate. I must have read you wrong." and a light mull over Gepfner's reaction, which was caught between accepting the retort as sincere or sarcastic. "But I've already done my part, and must say Alkagen was quite a valuable asset to me, preceding Tricell's worth by far."

It came as a subdued compliment, but wasn't seen as such in Gepfner's eyes as he took a step forward. "You fiend— Chris was right about you!"

"I don't take kindly to being compared…" And with distance pressed so close, a hot, threatening whisper— with an aroma of sharp cologne— suffocated Sylon's senses, triggering alarm; chocolate orbs flicking with awkwardness at dense freedom, overwhelmed by his pitiable reflection in Wesker's dark glass.

Nonetheless, leaving circumstances as such— finding some pleasure on forcing the Russian to embrace discomfort with angst— Albert withdrew leisurely, in a foreboding, dangerous manner. "But speaking of which…" He could hear a thankful exhale upon permitting legroom, although piercing focus never fell astray. "I believe it's time I exchanged my findings with my old friend—"

"_Wesker!"_

And the unanticipated mention of his name came rather muted, but was still perceptible due to the perks of a highly developed audible range before multiple bullets ricocheted off the window behind, granting calculated and undivided attention; mood immediately lightening with derision.

"Such impeccable timing."

**…**

Well… I didn't think the tram would port us this close to our planned destination, and with my lungs aching from all the exercise and near-death experience earlier, did best to steady aim; fighting to ditch riled vehemence when I saw Wesker's awareness trail to me from across the balcony with crooked chops exposing teeth, and I was so tempted to shoot another hello, but froze when noticing communication directed to Aristov— _I mean, Gepfner_— who was lingering in the shadows of the room just before fleeing the scene.

_Hm, too bad it was soundproof too_… but I found myself considering that was a good thing… Didn't feel I had enough self-control to save myself from empting my only clip for naught; however, my legs contradicted rationality as I raced around the suspended, metal lane; Jill immediately traveling opposite my position.

Although, I really wished I'd be the one to get to Wesker first, so I could stop him from moving his mouth… 'Cause knowing him, he was gonna find some way to drudge up former activities, and that was something I wanted to prevent.

_Already had one enemy today… Don't know if I can handle another. _And additional doubt influenced my chest when I made it to the end of the lane, only to notice that there wasn't a door, or entrance of any kind for that matter.

_Really? _What's the point of this docking station if there's no damn way out— or in?_ Guess I'll have to retrace my steps_— and taking a spin, almost missed a red flashing button on the wall further back— which made me double glance.

OK.I wasn't one to learn from trial and error, especially when in a hurry, so just made it fast and to the point, pounding the blinking switch with immediate doggedness , then withdrew a step: ready to react is anything were to happen.

After all, who doesn't get a bit edgy when pressing things that are unlabeled, yet have this 'push me' feel? But surprisingly enough, after a small _beep_, there were no flying projectiles or caving floors, only a sliding panel in the wall, which opened allowing clear access to a vestibule, and I made no hesitant motion to stop myself from proceeding with zest.

_Bzzt— click. _The frame sounded with a lock, overriding warm air with cold, but that was the least of my concerns as the hall stretching before me was shaped like a T with only one door visible from my position… which was where I assumed Wesker would be waiting.

And I bit forward, foot barely knocking down the archway to the glass room, only to meet sparking monitors and scattered wreckage. _What the hell happened in here?_ Didn't look this bad from across the bridge, and I focused on the pair of double doors sitting at the back— the ones Gepfner used to make his retreat. They were cracked at a very acute angle, light dancing to and fro beneath the gap— drowned by a shadow, which stalked right.

_Kinda sad when you can identify someone by his or her walk, _'cause just after a glance, I immediately knew that silhouette was Wesker, and I quickly progressed, not wanting to let the hunt go stale, kicking the doors wider. _Well here goes nothin'. _And positioned my aim, but was met with a dead end, except for a lane connecting to the hall I was just in. _Wait, it was a round-a-bout? Shit… Then where—_

"_Here._"

I turned to see a very relaxed Albert behind me— alongside the doors I presently jarred, which finally fell shut with a soft _click_; his back pressed against the corner's predetermined angle, jaw to chest before proposing action.

"I really must say, Chris, I'm surprised you fell for that." And he advanced, arms and fingers grasping to—

Nope, that looked a little _too_ sinister to be considered a hug.

And before I knew it muscle memory took control, scuttling me backwards in attempts to congregate space; plodding over the deserted wooden apparatus', and I hit them all aligning the sore-excuse-for-a-corridor in the process, which cast a scanting grin on pale lips that soon parted in a raspy, "Aw."

_Wish I didn't hear that…_

"Chris, Chris, Chris." The voice came sharp in quality, and slightly diverted, with a hint of gaiety. "These little meetings of ours are becoming quite the habit." He took a menacing step, motioning with gloved hands. "Wouldn't you agree? I believe this makes it, what, _two _in the last _three_ hours?"

_Well, someone's meticulous_, and I couldn't help but try and foul the mood with a self-satisfied, "Sorry, wasn't memorable enough to keep tabs."

And his lips rose with sullenness, as did a flicking wrist before—

"_Don't move."_

_That voice_— I shifted to see my partner holding her ground, a few feet following Wesker: Beretta focused at his skull with unwavering confidence.

And there wasn't even a glance to acknowledge her presence before our ex-captain introduced an, "Ah, Jill. How nice of you to finally catch up. Although, I'm sure Chris would have appreciated your attendance much earlier in the day."

_Ugh, that's exactly what I was I talkin' about_, and my gut dropped with fears that he was about to spout more nonsense, so I interjected with, "Cut the chatter! Your plans are finished, Wesker!" Though found myself briefly pausing afterwards. Man, the nostalgia of that line sent frisson down my spine and I thought perhaps Albert was afflicted too; however, when arrayed features remained frozen on humor and sincerity, I dispelled all further opinion.

"Finished? No. Simply… diverted."

And Jill fired first, triggering a back flip from Wesker as he propelled a jump, quickly bringing a Mustang kick down during landing— barely missing.

_Damn._ I know if I was in her shoes— feelin' the way I do— I'd probably have a broken spine about now… However, quickly shaking my dumbfoundedness I made to help by firing a couple shots from Gepfner's gun, which caused Wesker to back off, as I regrouped with Jill before leading her towards the closest exit: the sliding panel door I used to enter this area… But when our chests collided with the solid frame, and there was nothing accessible to reopen the archway, I felt up the walls searching for a hidden switch, latch, anything! Until finally noticing a green sign dangling above reading, 'One Way.'

_Oh, come on! Shouldn't that be hanging on the other side of the door?_

But Jill was swift on her feet, motioning to the monitor room, where we made our next tour. Nevertheless, there was no other way out, but we could see a room far below from beyond the window.

"Look! Stairs— over there!"

Well, it was a shot— a good one too— and probably the only one we had… but, "What'a bout this glass?" I'm sure I didn't have to remind her, because she was right next to me when I tried breaking it earlier but, "Gonna need somethin' a lot stronger than bullets—"

"Going somewhere?"

And we both whirled to see Wesker menacingly stationary between the double doors… and Jill sightlessly discharged the rest of her clip— drawing him closer as he moved with great speed, landing between us— striking like a snake with a straight and poised hand.

I couldn't draw my gun fast enough, so I swiftly searched the nearby counter top for something to use as a weapon; a crowbar, a metal pipe, a wrench— anything besides glass and plastic, but when my search ended with zilch realized Wesker was now intimidating, and unsafely close.

"Pitiful." It came as a whisper, and his masked eyes flashed significance, probably knowing his words would take me back to that concession we formerly partook in… and I didn't want to contribute to his role-playing game— at least not that section, and went with my own take—straightening him in the jaw, restarting a foul mood as he recoiled; Jill immediately ambushing from behind, latching onto his back and he shook his body like a wild animal refusing to be tamed.

But her hold fell short, causing her to collapse, and I didn't want her attempts to be in vain, so while Wesker was still afflicted by her proceedings, I took this opportunity to bind him as well.

However, I had just about the same amount of luck, because Wesker— still engrossed in incensed actions— slid a hooked arm around my waist, promoting momentum as he spun, flipping me onto the ground before stumbling; hesitating equilibrium with muttered curses, temper plummeting from its zenith.

_Pft. Didn't know we used the same lexicon—_ but this had to be the first time I'd seen him visibly regretting measures, and witnessing him caught up in such, tried to sweep his legs— which surprisingly connected— and he came toppling; arms on either side of me, inducing advocated images of our prior meeting— excluding frantic snarls and blaring nostrils.

And shades slipped down a notch due to the descend, holding just at the tip of his nose; citric, sardonic eyes never ceasing to stray from mine as if he was a dog trying to dominate, and he bayed silently, tilting his head in a provoking manner— leaving me with the impression that he was thinking nothing else mattered—

Until Jill's roundhouse nailed him in the back of his head, seemingly hammering all his thoughts with the harsh impact, causing him to shift in defense.

_Nice one! Looked like it hurt too…_ And I immediately made to add to tribulation with a move of my own, interlocking fingers in his smooth leather collar before planting a boot on his burly abs— which I used as leverage to propel him up and over.

_The bigger they are, the harder they fall... _Though I kinda wished that saying was more accurate, but in truth was evenly content, because I'm pretty sure that it was Wesker's self-esteem that took most damage.

But he recovered to his feet before I even had a chance to regain a vertical stance—Jill already in motion as she withdrew her knife, barefacedly pursuing; however, Wesker dodged a few slashes with ease, promptly planting a malevolent palm against her chest, sending her in and through the wide window.

_Well, that's one way to skin a goat_, and at least we now had an escape route, but my mind blanked— remembering that time from Spencer's mansion, and through a rush of rage, threw myself at a faceless Wesker again; only administering a loose neck brace, before initiating feral reflexes to grab and toss me as well— immediately joining Jill. And my shoulder rammed the outer, horizontal platform of the stairs; however, managed to save myself with a spur-of-the-moment roll, prior to crashing against the railing. But unable to handle the applied weight it bent us into a drop to the distant base below.

There was a cry of pain from both parties as we collided against the lower cement, but somehow only my grovels bade excruciating anguish.

I couldn't find the strength to rise, potency stalled by inertia as I desperately tried pulling myself together, only managing a turn to my side; Jill restricted to equal movement a few feet away. And I could only glance up to see Wesker contort with a harrowing _tsk_, which resonated throughout the larger room above before he joined, propelling over the ledge of broken shards with simplicity to stand on our level, opening the floor with,

"Now that I have your… _undivided_ attention." And he gallantly chastised his performance, pretentiously flicking at hair, trying best to quell edging hostility. "We need to talk—"

"—Not…" I tentatively flopped onto my chest, shaky hands groping the coarse gravel before pushing to my knees, "…gonna happen!" But when Wesker stubbornly motioned to continue, I felt compelled to add a short, "So you can forget it." to which he shut his chops.

Don't know why I was so set on pissing this man off, but couldn't pit this outrageous instability between sensualism and irritation which had been haunting me for a while now, and following my outburst was a disapproving grunt; indistinct, precious topaz muddling my sapphire as I fully balanced an upright position, persisting with an earnest frown.

_Great… _This staring contest had only just begun, and I couldn't help but feel drained. Especially when a high and mighty leer slowly strained Wesker's lips. I swear… I could feel his piquant gaze trying to wheedle its way under my skin— fishing for contemporary yearnings— so I looked down briefly, before gathering the courage to return.

_Thank god for sovereignty…_

But now his fabricated smirk had grown into a full blown beam, attributing forced merriment. "Oh, Chris." A forged chuckle. "You have no idea what you're in for."

And that's when a true smile parted Wesker's lips, wiping away prior falsehood as he opened mouth, before—

_WHAM!_

Stirred rapture was severed by the swinging doors to our right— well, my right— as scampering footsteps and rubber squeaks clawed from grey shadows.

_That's…!_

"C-Chris!" Consecutive slips on the smooth floor were caught halfway and propelled forward. "J-Jill!"

"…Fawn!" _Why was he running? And where were the others—_

"Help! R-Roger— the B.O.W. it—!"

**…**

Wesker's tongue clicked, as did his mental strain. He was putting a lot of effort into consuming irritation with Chris, which he made transparent when restlessly mollifying his exasperated movements, and to add to dismay, his self-experiment was flourishing; giving into protective deportment— something he had aspired to fail… And this sudden disruption from the panicked rookie _really_ knocked him off his rocker, severing all ties with current sentiments.

"Excuse me." A gun surfaced— Chris' stolen Beretta— safety brusquely released as well as a bullet, "I was talking."

And sputtering fright ceased from the one resembling a baby deer as the projectile tore off half his face, carcass grasping for a few more wavered steps before tripping over misplaced stability; blood spilling to the floor around.

"NO, GODDAMMIT!" "CHRIS!"

**…**

I wasn't sure why Jill screamed my name, but as I slowed my dash to a bleak stagger, realized I had started sprinting, and vision soon turned dank; refusing to pull away from the red I was currently feeling.

_I… couldn't do anything to protect him… Fawn. He was right there, and yet…_

I fought hard— through grating teeth— to repress my body from going into shock, burning veins obtruding from my rigid arms, and it wasn't like this situation was new to a solider like me; witnessing a teammate perish in the line of duty… but seeing that unprotected kid ruthlessly shot down by Wesker—with MY gun— really put a dent in morale.

Felt like I killed him myself… and it didn't help with Wesker's nonchalant,

"Now, where was I? Oh, yes—"

And I'm pretty sure there was more to that insensitive and provocative sentence, but failed to hear a single word through my enraged outburst of, "Argh!" But at this point, didn't give a damn what he was spewing; because even though my chances against him were slim to none, I couldn't let things stay like this…

That bastard had no idea how much hurt was comin' his way… and I blindly emptied Gepfner's remaining clip; however, regrettably— and forgetful on my behalf— Wesker still had his inhuman reflexes and dodged; drawing a line bordering safety and insecurity— which didn't leave any time to formally decline his invitation of pressed reserve; and once he was within acceptable reach, made his initial move on,

"Jill!"

Additionally feeling a little responsible— because she had just regained her footing before he sent her sprawling again— which was weird, seeing as I was much closer… but hey, I didn't have the pleasure to contemplate actions, especially when he slowly drew to face me, chin down like a panther ready to pounce; the rim of his blackened trench menacingly following his ankles. But I was ready…

Kinda.

And with a rousing, "Bring it!" I coved with opened arms, to which he graciously tackled. Probably would have dropped the ball too, if I didn't strategically locate my pocketed Beretta, refastened in his holster— and the surprise was on him when it fired with a singeing _bang_.

However, a sudden seize on my arm furrowed vision, and I was caught between staying in his grasp or letting go of my gun, and I chose the latter— breaking from Wesker's convincing hold with a vigorous jerk. But an unexpected wave of vertigo caused me to totter— leaving the impression that I was going to end up on my ass, and with my guard abruptly shelved like this, knew I wouldn't be able to protect myself.

Especially when I caught an aware smirk and curling knuckles, to which I closed my eyes in anticipation.

_Shit! This is gonna hurt._

But it didn't…

And when sight came back into focus, Wesker's fist was hovering inches from my stomach— frozen like ice, and there was a growl prior to capturing my vest, which was used to twist me in a half-circle, before kicking my legs from beneath— all the while guiding me by the elbow into a fall… but once my rear was on the ground he lackadaisically let go.

What the hell?_ What am I? A package labeled, 'Please handle with care?' or somethin'?_

Guess I was.

Because after returning for a few more straights, just like previous endeavors— though I was clearly vulnerable for attack— he didn't follow through… And instead, continuously hit my punches off course, soon lifting a knee to shove me back. However, I grabbed his elbow in a scampered twirl before he had a chance to recoil— soon connecting a Haymaker to his face, and there was a nasty crack when he withdrew like a wounded animal.

Could only hope that was his nose, and not his—

"Clever… Very clever, indeed."

Agitation was evident and I could only watch resentfully as the glass of one lens fell to the floor, creating a slight acoustic with the tinker; almost provokingly.

_Damn. Should 'a aimed a bit lower…_

But with barely enough time to blink he charged, arresting my gear again, but somehow I managed to slip out of it. Felt so much lighter without the extra weight, although slightly exposed; particularly since that once-small nagging bump was now lightly stretched across the middle of my abdomen, to which I groped in a bolt from the blue. Sure, I had noticed it in the elevator, but somehow my mind enlarged the size, so I was somewhat grateful that it didn't meet expectation, but still…

However, I wasn't given room-for-thought; soon distracted when my equipment was cast to the side with a heated lob and snarl, followed by a hissing, "Hold still!"

_What the— Did he really think that would work?_ I refocused in a crescent spin, but was belted away effortlessly, warned by a grotesque tone— but chose to pursue, ignoring formidable danger with another swinging fist.

Nevertheless, Wesker carefully countered, and in a couple graceful steps rotated me around, twisting my arm completely behind with a secure lock; space compressed between my rear and his groin.

And I griped in disclosure from the rush of strain and pain coursing through my tendons, but my stubborn nature wouldn't let me surrender… Although, even after forcing myself backwards to trudge on his feet failed, I was kind of at a loss. But it did make me aware of my heaving chest— especially when I was bent forward in a taunt to behave.

"Chris…" And after a strict shake, Wesker took a risk and leaned; rough lips brushing my ear as well as a hot, "_Submit._" before ardently pushing his fingertips in an interested, daunting manner across my midsection, which caused my gut to choke.

_The hell—_ and I found myself craning a 'what're you doin'' expression; confusion manifesting both our faces and— almost immediately— Wesker's grip loosened, acting like a frightened child who had accidently touched a toad after learning of its poison, to which he became engaged and pushed me absently.

And the suddenness of the toss left no time to anticipate distress— or a retort— as my shoulder met the cold stone with a slide; temples pounding uncontrollably. _Talk about a walk up call…_ and I tried to get up, rocking myself through a gritty bark and momentum, but was restricted by a tingling knot, which forced surrender. Pressure only subsiding when jostling retouched support in a curl, before I flopped back down with an upset exhale.

"Yes. It would be in your best interest to stay put." There was an obstinate gesticulation as Wesker fluffed off my feeble attempts to rise, before turning heel; composure stringent as he pursued towards—

"J-Jill…" But the irksome, cramped posture held, and placing a hand immediately on my belly, I gagged; all preceding efforts in vain as my stomach whorled, and I could only hush dry hacks with clenched eyes and incisors.

_Body… don't… do this…!_

There was a _tsk_, which I barely distinguished from Wesker's scuff and shoulder-drop as he turned to face me wholly, modesty strangling ego until eyes locked; ambiguity fleeting, soon switching to banter. "Don't you ever listen?"

_Ha. He already knew the answer to that._ And grimacing, I shabbily attempted to pull myself together again, trying my hardest not to capitulate this throbbing mess; but Wesker was already hovering, tilting his head inquisitively— in an envisage manner— before brashly performing a Windfall, heel in the curve of my chest bone— to which I objected in revelation, pushing against his foot; but he fought me with a chiding grouse to keep it planted.

And that's when I felt quiescent vomit climb, suspending just in the crevice of my collar bone, and I huffed twice through my nose— once through tightening teeth; expression crunched as I tried to plead myself afresh. But my breath hitched during a wince, and I complained with a trying hand despite the imposing boot. All this strain was making that damn bruise tighter, and I could only assume that a recent hit in the same spot had caused all this inflammation_…_

_Damn, talk about bein' the center of popularity… _And my perturbed gaze drew to amber, but just when I thought I knew each of Wesker's expressions; the one he was wearing now had me baffled…

Was it worry?

Or guilt?

Because mine was torment— a groan made that clear.

And apprehensive emotions projected through his half-cracked lens, to which he immediately recoiled as if burned by a flame.

_Gotta give him credit_… Even his stumble looked elegant when reclaimed by a pompous tramp; neck and back quarreling when motion suspended. But too bad he wasn't going to get a 'thank you' from me—

I turned to the side retching, body jolting with on-coming lugs as I coughed and moaned in-between barely administered gags; esophagus stinging from the searing bile; only stomach acid. And I heard Wesker still an advance, distorted vision catching the foretaste of his hand hesitating, as if offering an apology. However, maybe that was just a bad interpretation on my behalf… because I'm sure he was anything but 'sorry.'

"_C-Chris!_"

But Jill, on the other hand, I could tell she was distraught without even browsing her direction— her voice her announcer— and I tried my hardest to support optimism as I begged to my knees with an undersized wrist wave and grunt. _Probably looked a lot worse than it seemed_, but at least I felt some relief; the queasiness from before gradually leaving like a snail, almost on par with Jill's stir from physical truss as I previewed her approach.

She collected her balance and dropped weapon beside, before firing a round at Wesker— whom hadn't moved since my episode of sickness— prior to choking out of ammo. But that warning shot was all she needed because our ex-captain shortly withdrew in a flip—landing a top the stairs from whence we fell; repossessing grandiose conduct with a straighten, simultaneously as Jill reached me.

I couldn't lie, her steady hold on my uneven shoulders was consoling but with hopelessness right around the corner, couldn't pit the feeling of doom and didn't really want another mansion incident. Because I don't know about her, but I was at a complete loss for moves and could only hope she had something up her sleeve. However, when futility laced her attempts at help, her blazed eyes drew to Wesker and she stood with a hot puff.

Weaponless and livid. For Jill, that really wasn't a healthy concoction, especially when she had a history of self-sacrifice and I knew nothing would stop her from doing it again and reached out—

"J-Jill! No!"

And evading my grasping fingers, she took a few impassioned steps forward, tossing her empty gun to the floor like an offering before a God. "Wesker, you've gotta give Chris the cure! Take me— do you worst, just leave him out of this!"

_Dammit! I've had enough of people tryin' to throw their lives away for me_. First Sheva, then Jill…

Twice.

And I forced a stance, pitting my unsettled condition with a bit lip to keep focus pure. "I won't let you do this— not if I'm still breathin'."

However neither of our words seemed to pose an effect of concern as Wesker simply admired my commentary with a sadistic scorn, pinched lips discreetly flashing a, 'you're both adorable' kind of sneer, before proceeding with a somber,

"I'm afraid there is no treatment—"

_Talk about fictitious._ Besides, it's not like I would've accepted charity from the likes of him anyways, but— "Bullshit!" And knew I was probably pulling at strings too, but seriously, "I'm pretty damn sure you don't let your subordinates wander around waving needles unless you have a contingency plan!"

Words of truth, but ignored as conjecture and there was a heavy recess, to which I could see him thinking before he turned an obstinate accept, followed by an, "First of all, I would never allow myself such an _infantile_ position."

_OK._ To provide rising emphasis on that word— as his fix carried to me— left me feeling very… insulted. It's not like I purposely let myself get stabbed by Ahmet… _Guy had the jump on me, after all._ So to classify my situation as juvenile…? _Prick._

Been working cases like this for years, so he should know I don't partake in child's play and felt compelled to jog his memory, "Because it went so well with Uroboros, right?"

"—And secondly," His retort came quick, palpable that I hit a soft spot, before features darkened, and he finished with an involved, "my Progenitor virus can counteract any infection, rendering me immediate immunity." Then after a pause, hummed in tribute. "Speaking of which…"

And I couldn't tell if he was ready to turn tail and leave, or continue ignition, but when the loose stragglers of his matted mane were quickly merged with the rest of his gelled mass, amid an overstated inhale, could tell he had a lot on his mind.

"It's come to my attention that the… genetic code of the C-virus has been counteracted by transferred material, exposed to you during our fateful divide in Africa." There was a blunt fidget. "And now because of that minor miscalculation, this entire operation has become impertinently… _compromised_."

Furthermore, his speech-like tone dulled as if realizing we weren't judges in an auditorium here to reward his breakthrough with an applause and medal, but brushed it off with cold shoulder and brooding twitch.

"Originally, you were supposed to host the refined organism until it successfully concluded its itinerary, ending amid the hours of nine or eleven, and later endure the horror of it clawing from your gut; attacking anything or everything in its path." Lips parted in mock, "Killing _two birds_," flicking a sharp stare to Jill, "with _one stone_."

And an arm dropped disappointedly by his side, the other hovering chest level, seemingly preoccupied with hidden consistency among two main digits; granting attention.

"However, through our preceding get-together _in flagrante delicto_, it appears some fragments of DNA were overwritten— more like interchanged." Until that hand too was dispassionately shed lower with a shrug. "And although still pursuing the same fundamental gestation period of the parasite, has cultivated an alternative species; one equivalent to us."

_Holy… What the _hell_ was he babblin' on about?_ _Was any of that even English?_

But Wesker's serious ocher became lucid, and slowly met mine as his damaged shades were removed. "Did I stutter?" His teeth barred, probably at the idea of repeating himself— and inadvertently— mine did too.

That rather lengthy description of who-the-hell-knows-what was something I could do without hearing again, but just when I thought his frown lines couldn't get any longer.

His clenched teeth shortened the rattle of his throat, before going off in a foreign tangent, hollowing each descending rung with heavy clops. "Enfant. Kind. Bambino. Barn. Dziecko." Straightening off the remaining stair's step. "Kiddie."

…_Kitty? What's this gotta do with cats? _Actually, not like I cared… more of a dog person myself. However, that first word sounded _somewhat_ familiar, almost like I should know it, but the others were unrecognized by my inner dictionary, which I made branded through a confused tic. "Fancy terms for 'you're infected?'"

And there was a bitter, ridiculing sneer as Wesker rapt his plummet with bent fingers. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Scarcely audible between his rounded sway, "Shall I be blunt then?" and he threw his arms wide, influence boring with lax demeanor. "Congratulations, Chris. You're going to have my baby."

* * *

**Translation(s):**

Vous êtes entre de bonnes mains – French: "You are in good hands."

in flagrante delicto – Latin: "in blazing offence." Also a euphemism for someone being caught in the act of sexual intercourse. AKA. While performing sexual activity.

Also, all words following mean child: Enfant (French), Kind (German), Bambino (Italian), Barn (Swedish), Dziecko (Polish). If you want to hear how these terms are pronounced, Google Translate can help. Just mentally insert DC Douglas' voice— who we had the absolute pleasure of meeting at a convention Saturday, March 16th, 2013! It was utterly marvelous bathing in his godly charisma, warm smile, and cologne. He's so inspiring!

* * *

**Extra Note(s):**

Random, but we now have a **Twitter** account! (Link can be found on our homepage!) Follow us to talk two on one, and get updates on the chapters— in real time! (OK. So we're desperate & really need some friends to tweet to! Be one of them! Come on, you know you want to!)

Also, not sure if anyone took notice, but we incorporated the _exact_ dialogue from the cutscene of Chris's campaign from Resident Evil Remake (Wii) for Wesker's flashback... Couldn't resist filling in the blanks to make his and Chris' relationship oh-so-very-real— and amazingly enough, it fit perfectly! Talk about fate.

And although it was a bit difficult submitting the last chapter on both LJ, and FFnet, we express gratitude towards: **williewildcat, ****AmyaEnvyElric, ****KattyByNature, littlevamp, Kage Mirai, AishaPachia, ShivaTheDestroyer, Ryuze (Guest), ZaraZabuza, kira kuran2, 1010 -ERROR- FILEINACCESSIBLE, Akemi (Guest), Devil Woman 24**: for being patient, and kind! Thanks so much!

P.S. Not a lot of people commented on the previous chapter… Y U NO REVIEW? (Was it that bad?) Oy, we are sad… OK, more like _disappointed_, but you get the idea… SO REVIEEEEEW! And perhaps we'll post chapter eight sooner…

You are the fuel to our motors, the peanut to our butter, and the jelly to our jam. We need each other, so please leave us something pleasant in the designated box below… however, if you don't have anything nice to say, **don't**— for the love of Wesker— say it! Grazie!

* * *

****IMPORTANT! PLEASE READ** Because we pity the writing of our first five chapters, we're going back to revise them… And at the time of resubmission, we'll post an AUTHOR'S NOTE (as the newest/next chapter) to let those following the story know what's been done, etc… It would be highly advised to re-read this story from the beginning when this happens, as we'll be switching/adding some new and crucial information… You have our sincerest apologizes, but please hang in there, 'k?**


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